


Descend

by Destinyawakened



Series: The Climb [2]
Category: Batman Begins (2005), Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 04:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 43,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5233598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destinyawakened/pseuds/Destinyawakened
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Jim Gordon/Bruce Wayne and company fic. Things start to change around them, Bruce gets himself into legal trouble while murders and the mob keep playing deadly games with Gotham. Sequel to Momentum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is NOT finished, and there are no plans to finish it. It's been abandoned for a good five plus years now. It is not Beta'd in the slightest, all errors are my own and all plot holes are clear, as this was never edited for finished publishing anywhere. Many of you have asked for this despite it not being done, so here you go. Enjoy!

On the occasion that Jim Gordon started to feel old – or subconsciously thought he _was_ old – he never had to look farther than the younger man sitting across from him or laying curled up at Gordon's side in his bed, or even a simple little text from him. Bruce Wayne had become the staple of his life, the reason he felt younger and more alive; purpose for finally realizing that retiring at the age of fifty-one was really rather boring. Bruce made him see that Gotham did need him and that without 'Commissioner Gordon', Batman had nothing. _Bruce_ had nothing.

 

All of that though didn't help Gordon feel any younger that day. He was dressed in his nicest pair of slacks, a button down shirt and a tie. It was too hot to wear a full suit; June in Gotham was known for sweltering heat. Babs was running back and forth down the hall from her room to the bathroom and Jimmy was complaining about all the noise she was making. Gordon poked his head out his bedroom door, watching as Babs zoomed past him once more in a flurry of blond, green and black. He knotted his tie as he stepped out into the hall and walked towards her room.

 

The door was opened and she was throwing clothes from pile to pile, grunting something about 'not being able to find it', 'I don't know where I put it' and 'I bet Jimmy took it'. Gordon tapped his knuckle on the door, watching as his daughter jumped a few feet, holding her chest and shaking her head at him.

 

“Gees, Dad,” Babs complained. He smiled at her and stepped into the room, looking around at the huge mess she had made. She smiled warily at him. “I can't find that green and black shawl mom made for me last year. I really wanted to wear it today.”

 

“You do know it's going to be well over ninety degrees out today? You're having to wear that polyester robe on top of your dress. I don't know that you need to wear the shawl, too.” He was trying to convince her, because he knew that she was not going to stop until she did find it, and in the mess she had made, it could be anywhere.

 

Babs sighed. “I know... but it's the only thing I have left of Her's and it would really make me feel like she was actually there with me.” Babs' blue eyes had that hint of sadness that Gordon hated to see his children give him – it made him weak and vulnerable. He looked down at the piles of clothes all over the room.

 

“I'll go check the attic, see if we might have put it away with everything else,” he said. Babs smiled at him and he walked back out of her room, and peaked his head down the hall at his son, who was lazily watching television. “Jimmy?”

 

The blond boy made an annoyed groan, tiled his head backwards over the side the couch and looked at Gordon. “Yeah?”

 

“I need your help going through these boxes in the attic. You're sister can't find her shawl,” Gordon said sternly. Jimmy looked at him for a second, obviously debating if it was worth fighting his father over actually going this. “Now!” Gordon said, hands on his hips.

 

The teen rolled his eyes and stood from the couch, walking towards him. “Fine,” he whined walked past Gordon, who was about to turn to follow when the doorbell rang.

 

“Get started, I'll be right there,” he told his son, walking down the hall to the front door. He opened the door slowly, checking cautiously to see who it was. Standing before him was a sharp dressed Bruce Wayne, wearing a white casual suit and relax smiled. Next to him was Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce's long time friend, once legal guardian, and faithful servant. He, too, wore a very gentle and relaxed smile. Gordon opened the door the rest of the way and allowed the two gentlemen to enter.

 

Bruce leaned into Gordon and kissed him on the lips quickly, squeezing his hand. “Where is Miss 'I'm graduating today and freaking out, can you please bring the limo' Gordon?” he asked, glancing at Alfred who rolled his eyes at the remark.

 

Gordon smirked. “She's still freaking out. She seems to have misplaced an important item she wanted to wear today. I was headed to the attic to help Jimmy look for it.” It was then, however, that Babs made a squealing noise from her room, ran down the hall with the shawl in her hands, dancing around happily. Jimmy poked his head down from the attic steps, frowning.

 

“I found it! I forgot I had put it in my hope chest so I wouldn't lose it!” she exclaimed, tying the shawl around her shoulders. Bruce looked to Gordon, raising his eyebrows. Babs had definitely been all over the place the last few days, trying to get everything sorted out at school, planning her graduation party, and filing out the last of her paperwork for Gotham University, where she was already accepted, but she wanted to do everything by the book.

 

Jimmy trudged down the steps. “You couldn't have found that five minutes ago?” he snapped at her and she shot him a death glare that made even Alfred look a little scared.

 

“Jimmy, go get dressed,” Gordon said, waving his son off to his room. The teen narrowed his eyes and trudged back down the hall, stomping his feet as he went. Babs was already turning to go back towards the bathroom.

 

“What? You still aren't ready?” Bruce asked, obviously not seeing what else she had to do. She was dressed, she looked like she had showered, what else was there? Gordon grabbed Bruce arm, as if to tell him to not say another word. It was apparent Bruce never actually dated a lot of women, despite what the media reported.

 

Babs stopped. “I still have to curl my hair and do my make-up. You couldn't tell I hadn't done that yet?” She looked at Bruce in defensively. Gordon closed his eyes, bringing his thumb and forefinger under his glassed to the bridge of his nose. This was only the start of the evening and Babs was already pulling out the attitude. What Gordon wouldn't give for the night to be over.

 

“Uhm, well...” Bruce started to say, a slight crack to his voice. _Oh, God, Bruce please say something smart..._ “I thought you looked beautiful without doing either of those.” Gordon dropped his arms to his side and looked over at Bruce, who had a hopeful, sly grin on his face. On most occasions, Babs loved Bruce, but she had turned into a 'crazy control freak' (as Jimmy so lovingly put it last week) and everyone had at one point ended up on her 'shitlist'.

 

However, this time Babs didn't blow up. She looked at Bruce fondly, smiling a sweet, innocent, perfect little grin. “Thank you...” she said, tears welling up in her eyes as she walked down the hall to the bathroom. Bruce looked at Gordon, wide-eyed.

 

“Are you sure she isn't pregnant?” Bruce asked. It was a teasing question but the thought never made Gordon comfortable; as far as he knew, Babs never even had a boyfriend. With her mood-swings, however, he was beginning to worry. He was positive it was just stress and her need for things to be perfect. If Barbara were alive it wouldn't have been so hard on Babs, her mother would be helping her take care everything, but with Gordon back at work Babs was left to plan everything herself. She insisted, actually, not wanting to over stress her father.

 

“Bruce...” Gordon warned, but the billionaire smiled at him, giving him one of the winks that suggested he was _just_ teasing. Gordon shook his head. “I hope to God after tomorrow's party she'll be back to normal.”

 

Alfred and Bruce both raised their eyebrows at Gordon, curiously.

 

“Alright, so it's not that likely,” Gordon sighed. Babs was going to be living in the dorms at Gotham University, which meant directly after the party she would start packing and stressing over that. There was no end to the madness until she left for college in August.

 

Babs finally walked out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, hair done and curled and her make up light and perfect. Gordon looked at his little girl; for the first time he felt a surge in heart ache at the sight of her. His daughter was eighteen and graduating high school.

 

He _was_ old. He looked over at Bruce, a moment to catch his breath, to breathe and relax before a floodgate of emotions took over him. Bruce grasped Gordon's hand and squeezed it three times. A simple reminder that Bruce didn't think him old at all.

 

 

\-----

 

They all piled into the limo, Alfred in the front with the driver, while Gordon, Babs, Jimmy and Bruce sat in the back. Babs had started to calm a little, quiet and reserved as she sat with her hands in her lap. Gordon watched her as she fumbled with the polyester gown, straightened her hair in the window, bit at her lip. She was nervous, understandably, and Gordon wanted so bad to hold his little girl and comfort her. He knew he would have to wait for that, she needed her space and time to think over the next few hours. Everything after that night was going to change for her.

 

The limo pulled up to the high school's entrance, near the football field. The sun had yet to set and by the time the graduates went about getting their diplomas, it would start to set over the field. It would be beautiful. Babs slid out of the limo first, making her way over to her friends, hugging them and disappearing into the mix of students and teachers. The rest of them got out of the vehicle and walked towards the gate. Gordon took out the tickets, which they had to have to get in, and handed them to the woman at the gate.

 

He noticed her smile at first, a diligent little grin that she had been giving every family that walked by, but then her smiled changed as she saw Bruce. People were not yet used to seeing Bruce with the Gordon family, even after a month and half of tabloids reporting their unusual friendship. The woman stared after them and Bruce did his best to ignore the gaping from everyone else they passed. It wasn't unusual for him to be noticed – he was quite famous around Gotham – but the looks he received when with the Gordon family were often mixed emotions.

 

There were rumors, of course, that Bruce and Gordon were 'secret' lovers, and this often lead to speculation on how long it had been going on, whether Jim Gordon cheated on his dying wife or if Bruce Wayne could have prevented her death with all his money but didn't because he secretly wanted her dead. It were those rumors that often warranted looks of haste and often disgust from people. The facts, even if Gordon and Bruce had decided to give the full truth, would never have been taken in stride; people would always assume what they wanted.

 

Which was why it made it so much easier to just not saying anything. They neither denied or confirmed any rumors or accusations. It made it easier to avoid. The only family friends who knew for sure were Alfred and Lucius Fox. Although, Gerard Stephens, Harvey Bullock, and Renee Montoya often commented on the relationship, but never outwardly asked.

 

Bruce and Gordon made it hard for people to guess one way or the other as well. They never showed much affection in public, keeping it to a dull roar, if that. Gordon didn't need that right now after just getting his job back and Bruce didn't need it with the coming merger with another company. Maybe when the media has slowed down and things were more stable they would allow themselves some breathing room. Until then, they cherished the time they had alone, which inevitably wasn't much.

 

Gordon had to catch up on paperwork at Major Crimes and City Hall; all things that Michael Atkins hadn't cared to get done. He was still working on most of the paperwork, he had about a weeks worth left and then he'd be caught up. Bruce was busy starting up of a new branch of Wayne Enterprises – Wayne Biotech – specializing in research medicine and experimental drugs. Part of this was to attempt to lure out the mob and whoever they were working with. Gordon and Batman had had no leads on the experimental drug case, the mob, or any other people involved since Atkins didn't want to talk. This was the next step, a big one for Wayne Enterprises, as it could backfire on them. Bruce was taking a huge risk. But, he knew that one way or another they had to figure something out or lose the ground they gained on the mob years ago. Sometimes risks were necessary.

 

They walked up the steps of the bleachers, taking seats on the cold, hard, metal surfaces and waited. Jimmy pulled out his Nintendo DS and began to play, while Alfred, Bruce and Gordon hit up some small talk, mostly about how hot it was, and waited for the ceremony to start. When it finally did, Bruce looked half asleep, folding his arms over his chest, trying to keep his head up instead of nodding off. Gordon and Alfred both had to elbow him a couple times.

 

Babs had been chosen as Valedictorian, gave her speech on how great high school was and where the future was headed and how Gotham was going places and all the ramblings every Valedictorian gave. Gordon even thought _he_ nodded off for a minute, hoping he hadn't of course, because he knew Babs would ask him about her speech later and he had to be prepared to answer. Finally, after other speeches they began to hand out the diplomas.

 

Upon reaching the Gs, Bruce, Alfred, Gordon and Jimmy (who had to pulled to his feet) all stood and clapped as Babs received her's. Gordon, though calm during the whole thing, felt that surge again. He found a few tears in his eyes and everything his little girl was was finally gone. She was young woman now and she wouldn't need her daddy anymore.

 

Bruce reached over and grabbed Gordon's hand, apparent that he didn't care right then what anyone thought around them. Gordon glanced at him thankfully.

 

As the crowds parted and the students made their way through the droves of families, they met Babs by the limo. Gordon enveloped her into a tight hug, not letting her go for a good five minutes and even then it was her who had to push him off.

 

“Dad, please,” she said, pretending she couldn't breath. Gordon loosened his grip around her, holding her at arms length. She was so beautiful, just as her mother had been.

 

“I'm so proud of you, sweetheart,” he said, kissing her forehead. He let her go, seeing the grin on her face and how happy she was. “Where do you want to go for dinner? Bruce says he paying,” Gordon said as he put an arm around Babs, looking back at Bruce teasingly. Gordon lead Babs into the back of the limo, allowing the rest of them in first and then stopping Bruce just before he entered.

 

“Thank you,” he said to the younger man, fingers grasping Bruce's wrist possessively, pulling him a little closer. “I don't think I'd have made it through this evening with out you.”

 

Bruce smiled softly at him, his free hand coming up push a piece of fallen hair out of Gordon's eyes. “And you won't ever have to again.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

The dinner was almost as boring as the graduation ceremony itself. The place Babs had chosen to go to was some fancy, over-priced restaurant that Bruce approved with a sincere nod in the young woman's direction. Gordon had only been teasing about the billionaire paying for dinner, but Bruce was not likely to let him pay for this bill. A glass of water was priced well over seven dollars a glass and he didn't want to know what the fillet mignon most of them ordered was really going to cost. The menus didn't have prices; that there was Gordon's clue that this place was well out of his price range.

And he was sure Jimmy was just slightly under dressed by the sideways glances and narrowing of eyes when other patrons of the restaurant walked past their table. The teen decided that a nice pair of jeans, a short sleeve black button up shirt and a white tie was good enough for his sister's graduation. Gordon hadn't cared at the time, but now that they were sitting among the expensively dressed, shallow, snob-based citizens of Gotham, Gordon was feeling the pressure and silent accusations. Not only was it unlikely for a middle class family to be there, but with the rumors flying around the city that the Commissioner was having a randy affair with billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne, Gordon was getting more than his fair share narrowed glanced and hushed whispers as people passed.

Bruce seemed to notice his uncomfortable stature, attempting to calm him by sliding his hand on to Gordon's thigh, his long fingers splayed neatly over the older man's knee. No one could see, of course, all of them huddled too close together around a small table. Gordon glanced at Bruce out of the corner of his eye, watching the billionaire listen intently to what Babs was saying; she was going on about what she had to do before tomorrow afternoon. The party was all she would be going on about until then. Bruce squeezed Gordon's knee, letting him know that he was there and more than aware.

“I'll need your help tomorrow, Dad. You did ask for the day off didn't you?” Babs asked Gordon. He turned his attention to her, nodding. He was going to make a remark, but she continued on in a hurried babble. “Good. I thought for sure you would have forgotten with how busy you've been. Jimmy you are going to Larry's tomorrow, right?”

The teen looked up from his plate, which had nothing on it, and glared at Babs. “Yeah. Do you really think I want to be there?” He rolled his eyes at her and she narrowed her own gaze, about to say something spiteful, Gordon was sure, but Bruce chimed in.

“So, Babs, what can I bring tomorrow?” Bruce asked, giving her his intended full attention, however he was more than distracting Gordon. Bruce ran his fingertips lightly up and down the inner seem of Gordon's slacks. Gordon gripped the glass of water in his hand, to keep from letting out any awkward sigh that might otherwise suggest he and Bruce weren't paying full attention.

“I think Dad's taken care of most of it,” she replied, tapping her chin with her fingers in thought. “Maybe you and Alfred can bring some of those cookies he makes, the chocolate chips ones? They're so much better than store bought.”

Bruce seemed to consider this, looking over at Alfred who was already nodding. “Of course, Miss Gordon. I'll bring the ingredients over tomorrow morning and bake them fresh.”

“And I'll be glad to help,” Bruce offered, catching the annoyed glance from Alfred. “What? I'm not that bad at baking.”

“It's not the baking I'm worried about, Master Wayne,” Alfred said with a sigh. “You obviously don't remember a few Christmases ago when Miss Kyle came over to bake cookies with us and you two practically burnt down the kitchen?”

Gordon looked over at Bruce expectantly. This was the first time Gordon had ever heard of a 'Miss Kyle'. Bruce turned a lovely, deep shade of beet red, tapping the fingers of his free hand on the table rather irritably. 

“That was an accident. I promise it won't happen this time. You and Jim will be there and I'm positive one of you are better at keeping track of time,” Bruce offered, voice trying to reach a less embarrassed state as he cleared his throat twice. Gordon reach his hand down to the one Bruce had on his thigh and squeezed it. It was awfully cute when the younger man became uncomfortable; it gave Gordon more reasons to feel protective of him. Bruce gave Gordon the 'don't ask now' look, but it didn't mean Gordon wasn't going to prod at this bit of information later.

Alfred merely sighed and shook his head, but he didn't refuse the help Bruce offered. Gordon nodded his head. “I'm sure if we're both keeping a good eye on him, Alfred, Bruce shouldn't be burning down any kitchens tomorrow.”

Bruce glared at him. “That isn't funny. I've cooked for you plenty of times and I have not once gotten close to even starting a fire.”

“Eggs and meatballs hardly count as 'plenty of times' or foods that require a lot of skill,” Gordon commented, turning his body slightly to face Bruce, who had already twisted at the hip to do the same.

“Is that a challenge?” Bruce asked, a hardness in his eyes as he and Gordon stared each other down. Alfred groaned in annoyance, Babs muttered an 'oh god' and Jimmy whispered a 'not again'. It happened at least once a week since Gordon had gone back to work a month ago. Bruce would be over and no matter what they talked about, the two would always find a way to turn it into a competition. The kids thought it was in pure sport, for a while, but by the fourth week they expressed their annoyance of it. For Bruce and Gordon, it was more a game. They were tied so far, Gordon two and Bruce two.

“Could be,” Gordon quipped, “You win if you can make three dozen cookies without burning even one of them.”

“And how do you win?” Bruce asked, his tone sly and sleek, as their gazes didn't break. Gordon narrowed his eyes.

“I win if you lose.” Fair enough. They never played for a certain prize or an amount, just to know they had bested the other – something to hold over each others' head from time to time. They were like two teenage boys trying to one up the other. Gordon liked it, Bruce helped him feel and act younger. Bruce, most likely, liked it because it made him feel like he had someone to bond with, like a father, but not quite.

“You're going to regret this,” Bruce said out of spite. He and Gordon were just a few feet from each other, still gazing into each other's eyes and for a moment they had forgotten themselves, but the sound of Babs clearing her throat brought them out of their daze.

“I, uh, need to use the restroom,” Gordon said as he pushed away from the table, laying his napkin down on his still empty plate. He made his way past the waiters, busboys, and patrons of the restaurant, finally finding the restroom. It was unusually slow there, most of the people were out on the dance floor. He did his business and then went to the counter to wash his hands. Behind him the door opened and Bruce waltzed in casually, walking behind him. He glanced around the stalls quickly, but there was no one else in there.

Bruce rested his hand lightly on Gordon's right hip, coming up behind him and kissing the side of his neck softly. Gordon turned around, leaning back against the counter top. His hand slid over Bruce's hips, clasping at the small of the younger man's back, pulling them tightly together. Bruce bent and kissed Gordon's bottom lip, pulling at it with his teeth. Gordon obliged and parted his lips enough to allow the billionaire access. Bruce's tongue slipped into his mouth, swirling and searching roughly. Gordon moved his hands up Bruce's back until his palms were pressed flatly against the younger man's shoulder's, pulling him in for a deeper kiss.

Bruce's left hand was on Gordon's neck, holding him steady as his left hand was pressed to the counter top to balance them. Bruce pulled back a little, his lips still kissing at Gordon's as he spoke. “God, Jim.” It was almost muttered in a whisper, their hips grinding their own excitement against each other. Gordon's knew the words that would come from Bruce's lips before the sound even made it to his ears. “I want you so bad.”

It wasn't the first time either of them had said it. In fact, they both said quite often in their make-out sessions, but they never did anything about it. They had talked it over a week after Gordon went back to work, and they wanted to take things at an even pace, that they would know when everything was right and perfect. It was a little old fashioned, but Bruce had lost more than his fair share of loves and Gordon lost his not even a year ago. They both knew timing was imminent.

As much as Gordon felt this was one of the times he would gladly bend Bruce over the counter and fuck him senseless, the bathroom of a ritzy restaurant didn't seem like the place he wanted their first time to happen. Bruce was kissing Gordon's cheek, then his jaw, his nape of is neck as he pulled on Gordon's tie to loosen it. Gordon placed his hands on Bruce' chest and pushed him back, but Bruce didn't budge, moving his lips up to Gordon's ear, breathing heavily.

Gordon swallowed, the sound of hitched breathing causing his partial erection to harden more. Damn Bruce Wayne, he thought as he felt his own breath catch in his throat, silently cursing himself. Bruce slid his hands down Gordon's back, cupping his ass in his strong hands and lifting him effortlessly up onto the counter top. Bruce's right hand slithered around to the buckle on Gordon's pants as their lips met against, this time in a frenzy of hopelessness, as if this could be it... 

Except it wouldn't be.

The door to the bathroom creaked open and Bruce was off Gordon faster than a speeding bullet, pulling them both into one of the stalls. The man that had walked in went into the stall next to theirs. Gordon was standing over the toilet, a leg on either side with Bruce facing him, hands against the wall. This was no longer sexy and no longer risky – just uncomfortable. Both had lost the excitement in their hurry to not be seen.

Gordon motioned for Bruce to go out first. Bruce opened the stall door and left. A few minutes later Gordon joined him back at the table.

Babs eyed them questionably. “Long line at the bathroom?”

Bruce smiled at her. It wasn't a sweet smile or an innocent, but one that basically told her to mind her own business. Gordon raised an eyebrow at Bruce who shrugged at him. “No,” the billionaire answered finally. This time Babs raised her eyebrows. Obviously she expected some cover-up or excuse for them being gone for so long or looking as rumpled and disheveled as they did. She simple stared at them with her mouth slightly agape.

Jimmy reached over pushed her chin up with one finger. He'd never acknowledged Bruce and Gordon as anything but friends, even if he did know better. Neither of them openly admitted to Babs or Jimmy that they were a couple; Babs knew better and Jimmy either didn't care or wasn't affected by it. Both kids were opened minded enough to just keep to their own business and go on with their own lives. 

“You act like don't know or something,” Jimmy said to his sister, digging into his steak that had come while Bruce and Gordon were in the restroom.

“I'm not, I just... it's just that... we're.. you know...” But Babs couldn't seem to find the words she wanted. She was used to Bruce and Gordon doing silly things at home and not in public. And even at home they never admitted to anything.

Jimmy took a bite of steak, shook his head, and didn't say anything else. Babs continued to glare over at Bruce and Gordon, who were cutting their steaks as well.

\-----

As they left the restaurant, Bruce, Jimmy and Alfred went ahead while Gordon stayed behind to wait on Babs, who had to use the restroom first. She met him at the door and they walked out to find the limo. Babs took his arm and hugged it tightly. He looked down at her as they waited on the curb for the driver to pull up.

“Dad?” she asked quietly. Gordon looked her in the eye, smiling and pressing her to continue. “Do you really like Bruce?”

“Yes,” Gordon replied, not giving a full detailed answer. He didn't feel he needed to.

“I still think he's good for you. But I don't want to see you get hurt,” Babs said. It was a different tune than a month or so ago when Babs was saying how much she liked Bruce, and how much he was going to be good for Gordon. He wondered what happened to make her feel differently.

“I'm not going to get hurt,” Gordon assured her, patting the hand she had on his arm affectionately. “Why do you think that? You know Bruce wouldn't do anything...”

Babs stopped him. “No, I know that. But with his 'job' and everything... there's always bound to be something, you know?” The issue with Bruce being Batman was never fully addressed. Jimmy and Babs found out on a whim, a chance that had to be taken or Bruce's life would have been at risk. Obviously, they should have talked to the kids about it and cleared a few things up. Or at least ease their minds a little.

“Bruce is capable of taking care of himself,” Gordon said coolly, not wanting to really press into the issue on the corner of the street. The limo began to pull up next to them, and Gordon reached for the door handle but Babs stopped.

“What if it happens again though? Like last time?” Babs asked, gazing into her father's eyes, worriedly. Last time being when she found out about Bruce. He had been pretty badly beaten, and Gordon would be lying if he, too, wasn't worried. But for the sake of keeping his daughter calm he shook his head.

“I don't think it will, sweetheart.” He opened the door and motioned her inside. She looked at him for a moment before getting in and Gordon could tell she didn't rightly believe him.

Hell, Gordon didn't really believe himself. With that experimental drug out there, murders still taking place and Atkins not saying a word... anything was possible. Gordon prayed they found a lead soon before something did happen, before the drug was no longer experimental but fully functional and leagues of super-human killing machines were walking the streets of Gotham.

As quick and reflexive as Bruce was, Gordon was sure that a throng of men hyped up on whatever that drug was could do a lot more damage to Batman than they did last time. 

Gordon slid into the back of the limo, closing the door behind him. He slid in closer to Bruce, who placed an arm casually over Gordon's shoulders. Gordon moved in a little closer, but something in his posture must of give him away, because Bruce looked at him curiously.

“What's wrong?” the billionaire asked, a whisper that only Gordon could hear. Gordon shook his head slightly, nervously biting on his thumb as he looked out the window at the passing buildings. Bruce tightened his arms over Gordon's shoulders.

Babs was right. There was reason to worry. Gordon had just not allowed himself the time to do so, not wanting to believe that it was possible. He glanced at his daughter and for the first time that evening she seemed uneasy. He wondered how much she knew, how much she may have over heard him and Bruce talking about, if at all.

Gordon's cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at the caller ID.

Stephens.

“Yes, Gerry?” Gordon asked as he brought the phone to his ear.

 

\-----

Once the kids were safely at home and Alfred had promised to stay and watch over the house while Bruce and Gordon went down to City Hall to meet up with Gerard Stephens. Bruce, ever prepared, had a Batsuit at Gordon's place for those just in case occasions. Stephens was writing some notes down on pad of paper, standing by the yellow crime scene tape. He looked up at Gordon and didn't seem too surprised to see Batman with him.

“It's not a murder, if that's what you're thinking, “ Stephens said. He motioned to the guy sitting on the ground and cuffed to a flag pole. “Found him bound and gagged to that pole. He says some gang of motorcyclists did it to him. He couldn't describe any of them though. Every single one wore a full helmet. However, he also said that they were all wearing either blue and black. He could just be high off his rocker, too.”

Gordon furrowed his eyebrows. “Wait, you brought me down here for this? Gerry, I don't need –” Stephens held his hand up.

“Wait, just wait,” Stephens said defensively. “When we asked why someone would do that to him, suspecting that it was just some gang crime, the guy said that it was because they had found he was one of the experimental users for the mob. He wouldn't say anything more than that.” And probably wouldn't either. Batman had moved silently over to the man cuffed at the pole and was talking to him. Gordon took a deep breath.

“Obviously he's not on it now. That drug is powerful, how did they get him to stay bound?”

Stephens shrugged. “Got me. More of them and one of him? Drugs experimental right? Maybe he got a bad dosage? We'll have to test him down at the MCU. If we're lucky, he'll talk.” Gordon wasn't really worried about the man talking, usually the test subjects the mob had been using were right out of jail or juvenile hall kids who didn't have much else to live for and wanted to make a little extra cash and for a bit more, they would keep their mouths shut. This guy, he'd be in jail a max of a month before he was out again. No, Gordon didn't expect him to cooperate.

What Gordon wanted to know was why a gang of motorcyclists, all dressed in the same colors would do this? What did they know that the police didn't – that Batman didn't? And what was the point? Were they out to help or cause more trouble? Gang territory? He glanced over at Batman, who stood from the man, looked back and Gordon and shook his head. They wouldn't get much else from this guy besides what they had already told Stephens. Gordon nodded to the detective and walked over to Batman, by the warehouse wall where no one could see them.

“Nothing?” Gordon inquired, though the answer would be clear.

“No,” Batman replied roughly. “I'm going to go check into this motorcycle gang, though. It worries me.”

Gordon nodded. “Worries me, too. One vigilante's enough.” Batman started to leave and Gordon grabbed his hand quickly. “Be careful.”


	3. Chapter 3

It was definitely not the way he wanted to end his evening. The original plan was to return from dinner, have a quiet family moment at home with the kids, Bruce and Alfred. Gordon knew that the part of the evening where the kids went to sleep and Alfred quietly left back to the penthouse was gone. He unlocked the front door and entered the living room, seeing Alfred quite peacefully sleeping in the easy chair by the television and no sight of the either Babs or Jimmy, who were likely in their bedrooms asleep already. Gordon glanced at the clock on the DVD player, it was well past one in the morning.

 

Gordon shut the door behind and locked it. He made his way over to Alfred and covered him with one of the blankets from the back of the couch. He then moved down the hall way, checking each of the kids' rooms as quietly as possible. Both were fast asleep, laying half out of the covers due to the extreme heat of the day laying thick in the air. He closed Babs' door and walked over this own, stripping down to his undershirt and boxers and crawling on top of the blankets. It really was too hot to snuggle under the sheets.

 

But it was far from too hot for him to wish that Bruce had been able to return with him. Even in the extreme, muggy heat of Gotham on the hottest day of summer, Gordon thought his bed was cold without Bruce there. The billionaire had taken to staying over most nights, body curled into Gordon's, sharing their warmth. It was almost freezing here without the other man. Gordon resisted the urge to pull the covers around him, knowing that the moment and feeling would pass and he'd be sweating through the sheets.

 

Instead, he removed his glasses, placing them on the nightstand, and placed an arm over his eyes to try calm himself to sleep. He hadn't wanted to go into work that evening, it wasn't planned and he knew for a fact he would hear some sort of bickering from Babs about it in the morning. He'd deal with it then. It was hard to sleep, however, with his mind racing about the new development in the case; a band of 'vigilantes' dealing out their own form justice. A motorcycle gang for that matter, something Gordon never expected. Bruce seemed surprised by it as well, even more concerned than Gordon had been.

 

Batman was one thing for Gotham – Bruce had the training and background – but a new set of wanna-be heroes was not what Gordon wanted to deal with, let alone find their bodies scattered on the street sometime soon because of their naiveness. If things with the mob and the experimental drug continued to develop at the rate it had been, that gang was going to wish they kept to themselves. Gordon had a feeling everyone was going to start feeling that way soon.

 

With his eyes squeezed shut tightly, arm still firmly over his eyes, Gordon tried his best to wish away all the unwanted thoughts and misguided feelings he was having. There was so much more in his life than his job right now, so much more to be thankful to have. But he knew in the back of his mind that if havoc was let loose in Gotham all the happiness in the world couldn't mend the pending disaster. He didn't want to think about it, but there was nothing that seemed to push the thoughts from his mind, nothing that kept him from dwelling...

 

There was a slight shift on his bed and then the sound of leather pulling away from sweaty skin. Gordon moved his arm just slightly, enough to see the dark outline of Bruce at the edge of the bed rapidly pulling the pieces of armor off and tossing them to the floor. Gordon rolled to his side, pushing himself into a sitting position with his elbow. He crawled over to Bruce, reaching out his hands to touch the the man's damp, brown locks; fingers tangling in the softness. Bruce reacted by pushing his head back into Gordon's hand, letting out a light sigh.

 

Bruce had managed to remove all the armor, leaving just the mesh bodysuit to cover himself. Gordon ran his other hand down the front of Bruce's chest, the mesh fabric sticking to the younger man's skin. Gordon found the zipper for it in the back, quickly pulling it down, and watching as Bruce shimmied out of it, even in the dark, gracefully. Gordon pressed his lips to Bruce's shoulder, one of the many ugly scars that plagued his body, holding the billionaire from behind with one hand around his chest and the other on the opposite side of his neck.

 

Whatever worries Gordon had had were gone for now. The sight of Bruce and the flooded memories of just hours before in the restroom of the restaurant flooded his mind and all he could think about was how temptingly sweet Bruce had been at the moment. It was of course a little different now. Bruce smelled of Kevlar and leather, his skin tasted of moist sweat and male musk, rather than the newly sprayed cologne Bruce usually had on. It was all male and completely Bruce. Gordon couldn't say he had actually smelled this scent from the other man before, close maybe, but not like _this._

 

Gordon left a trail of kisses from Bruce's shoulder to his neck, holding him tighter from behind, feeling the soft prickle of goosebumps rapidly appear on his skin as Gordon licked a sensitive spot at the nape of the younger man's neck. Bruce let out a breath, one he had likely been holding in anticipation. Gordon licked a broad stripe up Bruce's neck, teeth nicking his ear lobe in a soft nibble. The man in Gordon's arms jumped a bit and Gordon held him closer to his body.

 

“I'm going to give you everything you need,” Gordon whispered roughly. Bruce's back arched at Gordon's words, trying to turn his body, but Gordon held him fast. Slowly he reached down the billionaire's naked body, touching every curve, every toned muscle, trying to remember what each one felt like, how they twitched at the sensual touch of Gordon's fingers. He then trailed his fingertips across Bruce's hip bone, hand sliding across down to his thick-cut thigh. Bruce's head leaned into Gordon's shoulder, his breathing rough near Gordon's ear.

 

Bruce whispered something, but Gordon wasn't listening. He pressed his lips to Bruce's neck again, sucking, licking, nibbling as he reach his hand down as far as he could, avoiding Bruce's already hard cock. Gordon feel the heat from the man's genitals near his hand, the urge to just reach over and grasp it was overtaking the plans he had in mind.

 

“Jim...” Bruce mumbled in a shaky breath, struggling again against Gordon's arm around him. Finally, Gordon gave in and allowed Bruce to move. The man flipped them around, Gordon underneath Bruce, and their lips locked in a messy clash of teeth and tongues. Bruce had his legs on either side of Gordon, his hips grinding into his. Bruce reached down and slipped his hands into Gordon's boxers and began to fondle him. Gordon felt his own breath knocked out of him, the zing of electricity bolting through him at the gentle and yet oddly rough touch of Bruce manhandling him.

 

But this wasn't going to go the way Bruce planned either. Gordon made a promise and he would keep it. He placed his hands on Bruce's shoulder's and pushed him off, toppling them over into the middle of the bed – Bruce now beneath Gordon. Through the gleam of the moon just outside Gordon's window, he could see Bruce's eyes gazing up at him in complete trust. How they got here, how they ever ended up in this bed together was beyond Gordon. But, the 'meant to be' factor just played so perfectly into their hands that they couldn't deny this. Gordon thought it would seem odd, to have another man below him, that he would have no idea how to turn him on, or know what would make him completely melt in his hands.

 

But it was coming to him naturally thus far and Bruce hadn't complained. Gordon stripped himself of his undershirt and boxers, placing a leg on either side of Bruce. He bent and kissed the younger man's clavicle, trailing a line of kisses down Bruce's chest, caressing the scars on his chest and sides lovingly. Gordon stopped at Bruce's hip, inching his body back a little for a more comfortable position. Gordon let the aroma of Bruce's musky male scent waft into his nose, taking in every little bit that he could. Gordon grasped Bruce's penis, watching as the body before him jerked. Gordon cupped Bruce's balls with his other hands, rolling them gently as he placed his mouth of the head.

 

Gordon swirled his tongue around head, licking feverishly as he bobbed his head down on the shaft, not once stopping to really think on how awkward it was, just knowing that this was Bruce and he _was_ going to take care of him. Every bit of Gordon began to ache as he thought of the moment when Bruce revealed himself as Batman, when they kissed and all the pieces clicked together. Gordon's head bobbed faster at the thought, hearing Bruce mutter his name followed by a few choice words and the bucking of his hips into Gordon's mouth.

 

Pulling back, Gordon licked his tongue up the underside of Bruce's cock, and then back over the head, grazing his teeth against the vein underneath. Bruce jolted again, pulling himself to his elbows and glaring down at Gordon with a lust-filled eyes. Gordon looked back him, a blurry haze without his glasses on, but he could see the flushing billionaire bite his lip in anticipation. Gordon scrambled to the dresser behind him and began searching through his sock drawer. It had been well over a year since he'd last had sex, but he was sure he had something in here from when he and Barbara had been active.

 

Luckily he was right. He pulled out a condom and the typical bottle of lube. It would have to work. He placed both down beside Bruce's hip, and dipped his head down again onto the man's erection. Bruce ran and hand through Gordon's hair, pushing his head down a little faster and harder onto his cock; Gordon didn't mind – at least he knew Bruce liked it. He tore his head away from the grip and lower his head a little further, licking around the opening of Bruce's anus, noticing the twitch in the billionaire's legs and feet. He did it again and then licked his own finger. He slid it into Bruce slowly, watching his chest rise in a few rapid breaths and then pulled it out. He licked a second finger and did the same over again until he had three in there and Bruce was practically begging through jagged breathing.

 

“God, Gordon... just fuck me,” he growled in his deep, raspy Batman tone. Gordon titled his head and bit Bruce's thigh hard enough to leave a mark. Bruce growled again at him. Gordon put the condom on and then took the lube and slathered it over his own raging penis. He bent below Bruce, lifted his legs over his shoulder and aligned his hips to Bruce's ass, slowly entering his anus, being sure to get as much of the lube in there as possible. Bruce was surprisingly relaxed, as if he had done this before (Gordon knew for a fact Bruce had never been with another man though). Gordon entered him, hearing the bated breathing of Bruce below him, muttering for him to keep going.

 

Slowly and evenly, Gordon was all the way in and then he lifted his hips back out and then in again, creating a pattern based off Bruce's groans. From this angle Gordon feel the tip of his penis reach Bruce's prostate, bumping it just enough to sending Bruce grasping for the sheeting. Gordon picked up the pace, feeling the heat in his groin growing. He took hold of Bruce's hips and used them as leverage as his own hips kept thrusting into the billionaire's ass. Bruce's fingers were tangled into the sheets on either side of him, a deep moan escaping his mouth as he tried to suppress it. Bruce reached up with one hand and started to stroke his own cock, fast and hard.

 

“That's it,” Gordon found himself muttered in a gasped breath. “Come to me, son. Just let me take care of you.” The words were sharp blades to his own ears, but Bruce's body reacted feverishly, his back arched and his body went rigid. Gordon watched the sight before him, his own blatantly hot orgasm screaming through his body as pushed three more thrusts into Bruce, throwing his own head back, suppressing the urge to moan loudly. “Damn,” he whispered instead, pulling out of Bruce carefully. He took off the condom and threw it into the waste basket. Bruce was still, breathing heavily.

 

Gordon went to reach for the box of tissues on the nightstand, but something more primal came over him and he bent over Bruce instead, taking the other man's half hard penis into mouth and sucking it completely clean. He then moved his lips up Bruce's belly, licking a long, slow strip up to his chest, cleaning the mess of come completely off of him. Bruce grabbed for Gordon, pulling him forward until their faces were just breaths apart, and kissed him. Though they were both sweaty and hot, they embraced for a few minutes before parting. Gordon lay on his back and Bruce curled his body into his, arm over his stomach.

 

Gordon lay his head back against the pillow and took a deep breath, smelling the scent of sex and testosterone mingled into the thick air. He could get used to this, he definitely be happy doing this the rest of his life. His fingers trailed through Bruce's hair as he listened for the man's soft, settled breathing. Bruce had fallen right to sleep and Gordon lay still thinking. He had his moment of letting everything pass around him, but now it was all back again.

 

He couldn't see how Bruce was able to sleep with so much happening in Gotham around them. Gordon felt helpless, despite having his job back. The city was going to fall apart under him and he could do nothing. There was no control, it was almost as bad as the time the Joker reigned his chaos over the city. That had been hard enough, that had been a huge city-wide panic. This hadn't become a panic yet, not a lot of people even knew what was happening. But the minute they did, the second the mob released a full version of that drug... everything would be ruined.

 

“Jim,” Bruce muttered. Gordon squeezed the younger man tighter to him, trying to tell him to go back to sleep, but Bruce wasn't having it. “What's wrong?”

 

“What isn't wrong?” Gordon muttered softly, trying to keep the spite off his tone. Bruce tightening his hold of Gordon, nuzzling his face into the older man's neck. Gordon felt a soft, warm breath on his neck, followed by a series of kisses to the nape of his neck.

 

“I'm taking care of it,” Bruce whispered. “You need your sleep.” But it didn't ease Gordon's mind, and his thoughts were still racing and preventing him from even settling down enough to even think about sleep.

 

“I'm too wired,” Gordon said as he went to sit up, suggesting he would leave Bruce to sleep, while he went to watch television or something. Bruce pulling him back down, kissing his ear.

 

“Then I'll take your mind off of it,” he whispered slyly, reaching down and grasping hold of Gordon's length that had already starting to jump at the chance for another round. “This time _I'll_ take care of y _ou_.”


	4. Chapter 4

Though Gordon was thoroughly ravaged by their third round, at close to five in the morning, he still couldn't find the means to sleep. Bruce had passed out next to him, one leg off the bed while he slept on his stomach, arm covering his eyes as the sun started through the window. Gordon reached for his glasses as the clock rolled to seven. He had dozed in and out for two hours now and every little bird chirp and creak in the house woke him just before he could get into a deep slumber. He quietly made his way to his dresser and pulled on a pair of sweats and t-shirt, before walking out of the bedroom, being sure to shut the door behind him quietly.

 

The smell of coffee hit his nostrils hard, the deep aroma making his mouth water as he reached the last few steps to the kitchen. He peeked around the corner and saw Alfred making a hearty breakfast of eggs, sausage, bacon and toast. Alfred looked at the older gentleman as he approached the coffee pot and was swatted away by a dish towel.

 

“Sit down, Master Gordon,” Alfred said sternly, motioning to a chair. Gordon had yet to get used to the proper greeting from Alfred, he'd prefer just to be called Jim or Gordon; the 'Master' part felt oddly strict.

 

Gordon moved to the table and sat down. Alfred brought him a hot mug of coffee, the cream and the sugar. Gordon dressed his coffee the way he liked and Alfred went back to cooking. It was quiet and not another word was spoken for a few minutes, until Alfred gave Gordon a sideways glance and then turned his head towards the hallway.

 

“I do hope Master Wayne doesn't intend to sleep all day,” Alfred commented, a knowing tone to his voice. Gordon hid his the impending grin behind the mug, returning Alfred's glance innocently.

 

“He'd better not, he has a bet to uphold,” Gordon mused, putting his mug down on the table. “It's only seven, he can sleep a little longer.” Alfred raised an eyebrow in Gordon's direction, but didn't push the subject.

 

Down the hall a door opened and shut. A few seconds later Babs emerged from the hallway already dressed and ready to go for the day. Gordon looked at her curiously. She walked over to Alfred, peeked at what he was making, kissed him on the cheek and mumbled a good morning. She then made her way over to Gordon, placed a hand on either of his shoulder, bent over and kissed him on the cheek as well.

 

“Morning, Dad,” she said quietly, a bit of mischief to her tone. Gordon looked up at her as she moved from away from him and sat down in the chair to his right. She folded her hands on the table and just stared at him for a good minute before he got uncomfortable with the accusations in her eyes.

 

“What?” he asked carefully, not wanting to push the point that he _could_ be guilty of anything.

 

“You look terrible. Didn't you _sleep_?” she questioned, tipping her slightly to the side and raising one eyebrow at him. Gordon sipped his coffee to avoid answering right away, because it was damn obvious she already knew the answer. He placed the mug back down.

 

“It was too hot,” he answered simply, dropping his eyes to table. The glare she was giving him was almost as bad as the one Barbara used to give him when he'd done something wrong but she wanted him to admit to it instead of outright accusing. It wasn't Babs' business either way what he did in his own bedroom, let alone his own house. He brought his eyes back up to meet hers, giving her a stern glare.

 

“I bet,” she said softly, seeing as she wouldn't win the argument even if she started one. Gordon knew she would go in on the 'children in the house' ordeal, but that wasn't going to fly because even when Barbara was alive they had sex in the house with Babs and Jimmy just down the hall in their rooms. Babs had nothing and knew it. Alfred plated the food and placed it on the table along with a stack of plates and silverware.

 

Gordon looked up at him. “You know, in my house you don't have to cook and clean...” Gordon started to say and Alfred shook his head lightly.

 

“I don't mind. I hate sitting around with nothing to do when there are things to be done,” Alfred replied, raising a finger as if to tell Gordon not to say another word about it. “Might I suggest you wake Master Wayne before the younger Master Gordon awakes and eats all the food.”

 

Gordon let out a light laugh, sliding out of his chair. He walked down the hallway to the bedroom, opening the door just enough to allow himself entrance. Bruce was still in the same position. Gordon walked around to the side the younger man was laying, sitting down on the edge. He placed a hand to the small of Bruce's back, light enough that that their skin barely touched. Bruce stirred slightly, grumbling something about bats and daylight. Gordon shook his head, sliding his hand around Bruce's hip bone and down his abdomen. Gordon curled himself into Bruce's back, pressing his hips against his buttocks, and then started to finger the small patch hair on Bruce's belly. The younger man stirred again, this time pushing his butt back against Gordon's hips.

 

Bruce rolled over in Gordon's arms, facing him. The billionaire had a half glazed over look in his eyes, still tired and barely functioning it seemed. Gordon rested his head down on the pillow next to Bruce's and happily gazed into his eyes for a few moments. He rested his hand on Bruce's hip, gliding his fingers over the smooth skin, one of the few spots Bruce rarely had injuries. Bruce inched his head forward, touching their foreheads together as if it would make their intense gaze deeper. Gordon wouldn't have minded staying this way a little longer; just hold Bruce closer and pretend there was nothing else that needed to be done today. That Gotham was thriving again and everything was perfect.

 

That was a silly thought, though, and he knew it. He lifted his head and titled it just so, bending to kiss Bruce softly on lips. He brought his hand up to the younger man's face and caressed his cheek bone gently. Bruce attempted to deepen the kiss, gliding his tongue over Gordon's lips temptingly. Gordon breathed a steady sigh, pushing Bruce back to express that this was not the time.

 

“I haven't come back in here to for a fourth round,” Gordon whispered, sliding off the bed. Bruce turned over and watched him, still very nude and very much sprawled out on the bed with no shame. It _was_ tempting, but with the Babs and Alfred awake and Jimmy likely on his way to the waking world as well, it wasn't worth the risk.

 

Bruce smirked at him. “Then what have you come here for?” A flirtatious tone, suggesting that Gordon really had come back for another. Bruce sat up quickly – before Gordon could even calculate what he was doing – and wrapped his arms around Gordon's waist. He pulled the older man down and pushed him back down on to the bed. Within less than a second Bruce was straddling Gordon, an intense wanting in his eyes. Gordon began to wonder if he'd be able to keep up with Bruce's sex-drive.

 

Gordon let out a small sigh. “I came to tell you breakfast is ready and Alfred demands your presence,” he said calmly, reaching up to adjusted his glasses that had gone slightly askew. Bruce seemed to consider it and Gordon knew that the next words he said were going to be suave and low, and would likely make Gordon's loins burn for him.

 

“But what I want for breakfast is right here,” Bruce whispered, bending to Gordon's ear. It was just as Gordon's assumed. He gritted his teeth, trying to control the heat that surged through his body, giving Bruce a slight push to get him off. The billionaire didn't budge. Damn he was stubborn when he wanted to be. It wasn't really fair though, Bruce using his brute strength against Gordon, a man who had a heart attack less than six months ago. But that didn't mean he couldn't get an upper hand if he tried.

 

“I think you're just trying to get out of making those cookies,” Gordon said matter-of-factly. Bruce froze whatever action he had one intended doing next and narrowed his eyes at Gordon, his lips forming a firm, straight line. That had done it; Bruce wasn't one to be called a quitter.

 

“You're mean,” he said lightly, crawling off of Gordon, grabbing for a pair of sweats he left there for the occasions he stayed over. He then pulled on a t-shirt and opened the door to the hallway. “You don't play fair.”

 

Gordon shrugged as he followed Bruce out of the bedroom. “No one said I had to.” They walked down the kitchen, and sure enough Jimmy was up and piling his plate high with greasy bacon and sausage, stuffing his mouth full of eggs. He stopped mid bite and stared at Bruce and Gordon, discretely placing a few pieces of each back onto the main plate.

 

Bruce shook his head. “Don't bother, I'm not that hungry,” he said as he winked at Gordon. Gordon rolled his eyes as he sat down in the seat he had occupied earlier. His mug of coffee was still there and he took a little sip, quickly putting it back down in disgust. Cold already. Alfred, who must have seen Gordon's reaction, swiftly toddled over with the pot and poured some hot coffee into the cup, bringing the contents to a nice, drinkable temperature.

 

Alfred placed a mug down in front of Bruce and poured him a cup as well. The billionaire cradled the cup in his hands and continued to stare at Gordon with long, wanton glances. It was all Gordon to do but avoid the gaze and try to keep his own growing libido in check. Gordon didn't touch the breakfast foods either; at his last check up his doctor informed him that he had too high cholesterol and had to cut back on mainly butter and fat driven foods, and whole eggs.

 

And yet, somehow, Alfred knew this and placed a small plate of scrambled egg whites in front of Gordon. Not his favorite, as the lack of flavor barely made them edible, but to refuse Alfred's specially done cooking was like telling his mother that he hated her cooking. So Gordon happily ate the eggs, aware that Bruce was watching him very, very carefully. Alfred came to the table and sat down to eat his own breakfast. He looked to Babs.

 

“I'll have to go out and buy those ingredients for the cookies. Is there anything else you might require Miss Gordon?” Alfred asked politely, waiting to eat until Babs had answered him.

 

“I don't think so. I'm sure once I start getting the rest of the food together and the party decorations up I'll think of something,” she turned to Bruce. “Do you think you and Dad could help me decorate while Alfred is out?”

 

Gordon snorted. Sure Bruce was artistic, but decorating? He was doubting this one a lot. Even Alfred looked up from his plate with raised eyebrows. He looked to Babs pointedly. “Why don't I help you with that, Miss, and then we'll send your father to get the items we need.”

 

That sounded like a much better idea. “Perfect,” Gordon assured, nodding at Babs. Bruce put his mug down and started to smiling like a giddy teenager.

 

“I'll go with Jim,” he said smugly. Gordon's mouth dropped open and he felt his insides turn cold. A grocery store with Bruce Wayne. This... No.

 

“Bruce, really, why don't you stay here and help –” Gordon started to say but Bruce was leaning back in his chair, that deviously, laid back grin spreading quickly across his face.

 

“Nonsense. I said I would make cookies and I think a big part of doing so is helping by the required items.” Bruce was beaming as Gordon couldn't think of anything to come back with at that. Gordon frowned and took a sip of his coffee. He'd be lucky to get out of the store in three hours if Bruce was coming along.

 

\-----

 

Even though Bruce had insisted that they take the Rolls Royce, they ended up taking Gordon's car instead. Bruce had dressed in a pair of khaki golfing shorts and a t-shirt, blending in a bit better with everyone else than if he had come in a suit. Gordon was glad for it, because he didn't want to deal with the accusing glares this morning, he just wasn't in the mood and was sure if someone even looked at him wrong he'd end up throwing a punch or running his mouth.

 

Bruce shut the car door behind him and they walked into the supermarket together. Gordon grabbed a shopping cart and then looked down at the list of things they needed to pick up. Alfred had used the last of the eggs, so they would need more of those plus butter from the dairy isle. Gordon started towards that section, since it was the first isle as they walked through the door. Bruce followed like an obedient dog, looking at everything around him.

 

“Have you never been in a supermarket, Bruce?” Gordon asked as he passed the eggs, picking up a cartoon. Bruce shrugged a little, poking his head over Gordon's shoulder to see what he was getting.

 

“I have, it's just been a while. Alfred usually keeps everything stocked, so there's so reason for me to go,” Bruce answered nonchalantly. Gordon pointed to the butter a few rows down.

 

“Grab a pack of butter,” he said as he looked over the list for the next items. Flour, baking soda, sugar, brown sugar, and vanilla; all items that could usually be found down the same isle. Bruce grabbed the butter and placed it in the cart. They walked past a few isles and then down the baking one. “Find flour, sugar, brown sugar and baking soda,” Gordon told Bruce, as he went a little further down to find the vanilla. He put it in the cart and Bruce arrived just second later with everything he was asked to find. A few rows down were the packages of chocolate chips, Gordon motioned to those and Bruce bent to pick them up.

 

“What else?” the younger man asked

 

Gordon looked over the list. “I think that's it. I have salt at home.”

 

“Well, thats was easier than I thought,” Bruce replied, heading towards the check-out lanes. Yes, it was easier than even Gordon had thought it would be. Bruce was more than cooperative and he began to wonder if Bruce had other motives.

 

 

\----

 

Other motives indeed and so easy that apparently Bruce thought they had enough time in between then and getting home to grope Gordon as he finished putting the bags into the trunk. Bruce had opened the back door and out of no where pushed an unsuspecting Gordon into the backseat and straddled him. It was uncomfortable to say the least, and if Gordon had been a little younger and little more limber he would have gladly taken Bruce up on his attempt at ravaging each other like two teenagers at a make-out point.

 

“Wayne, get off of me,” Gordon demanded, keys tightly held in the palm of his hand. Bruce didn't even seem to consider the older man's words as he set to work unbuttoning Gordon's shorts. Bruce slid a sweaty palm over the length of Gordon's penis, giving it a gentle tug at the top, before driving his palm down the shaft again. Bruce pushed Gordon into a semi-sitting position, back against the door, legs now splayed apart in a rather unruly manner.

 

Bruce knelt to the floor of the backseat,grabbing Gordon's hips and tugging his now hard cock into his warm, moist mouth. Bruce glared up at Gordon as he swallowed his length almost completely; the gaze alone, the wanting and lust swirling around those hazel eyes were enough to send Gordon's hips bucking awkwardly into Bruce's face.

 

If there was any control to be had, Gordon had lost it by the time Bruce started to bob his head up and down his shaft, the slick slurping sound of saliva and air suction evaded his ears and made him his cock strain a little harder for release. Somewhere between grabbing Bruce's thick mane of hair and and forcing the billionaire to swallow his entire length, Gordon dropped his keys. He didn't really care right then, both hands finger deep into Bruce's hair, nails digging into his scalp as Bruce pushed himself into a faster rhythm. The billionaire's tongue started to swirl the head of Gordon's penis, causing that slurping noise again. Gordon felt the surge of heat through his groin and just as he was going come, a sensation he didn't think could get any better, Bruce gently caressed the outside of his anus with his thumb. Gordon fucking lost it. He bucked his hips into Bruce and dug his nails deeper, panting for breath as he orgasmed a slippery mess into Bruce's mouth.

 

Bruce smiled up at him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It was going to be a long morning if they expected to get anything done in the kitchen. Gordon had never expected that when they did finally have sex – when they did share that moment – that they would both end up just wanting more and more of each other. Maybe it was that stupid love-struck and twitterpated feeling that most people got when a relationship first starts. Maybe it would fade over time, much like he and Barbara's sex life faded over the years.

 

But something told him that wouldn't be too likely. Not any time soon, anyway.

 

Gordon button his shorts back and glared at Bruce. “You are in _so_ much trouble, young man.” Bruce smirked and raised an eyebrow.

 

“Oh, I'm counting on it.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn't getting back to his house that was the hard part, it was the accusing glares they received from not only Alfred but Babs and Jimmy as well. The store wasn't more than ten minutes away and they had been gone at least an hour, a good thirty minutes of that being in the back seat of the car. Bruce's hair was sticking up in every which direction, and no matter how much they tried to get it to go down, it didn't work. Gordon was sure his own hair didn't look much better, so the looks his children were giving him were probably acceptable given the current frumpish fashion he was sporting.

 

Bruce placed the paper bags of groceries on the counter, avoiding the look from Alfred, and headed back towards the bathroom, likely to try and manage his hair. Gordon unloaded the items from the bags and placed them on the counter. He then found the baking sheets, the measuring cups, two mixing bowls and come cooking spray. Alfred was standing on the other side of the counter watching him. Jimmy had left the room to likely pack up a few things before heading over to Larry's house for the day. And Babs was glowering at him, arms crossed over her chest.

 

“So, do you and Bruce think you can get these done in time for the party?” she asked in an annoyed tone. Gordon looked at the clock on the microwave and then to Babs in the most fatherly way he could muster.

 

“Yes, I think we can,” he said calmly. It was only ten in the morning and Babs' party wasn't due to start until four that afternoon. There was plenty of time, but Babs was worrying over anything these days. God, Gordon could not wait until this was all over and she was back to being his sweet little girl. That, too, seemed like a wish that was bound to be blown out the window. She wasn't his little girl, she was his daughter turned young woman, running off to college and leaving home in less than two months.

 

Where was Bruce? Gordon was feeling old again.

 

“Dad...” Babs sighed. Gordon walked over to her and placed a hand on either side of her shoulders. He looked down her pointedly.

 

“Stop worrying. You have seven hours, I'm pretty sure we can get these done by then and have the house looking spiffy before your first guest arrives.” Gordon smiled at her warmly and she sighed.

 

“You're right,” she agreed, moving away and back to Alfred who was holding green and silver streamers in his hand, waiting for Babs to come back with some tape. “Okay, so we should definitely tape that piece there and this one here...”

 

Gordon stopped listening when Bruce walked back down the hall, hair slicked back with some of Jimmy's hair gel. He looked like so much younger with this hair done up like that; so much so that Gordon almost felt sick about their last encounter. It was _just_ Bruce though.

 

“Too much?” Bruce asked, patting at his head, an unsure smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Gordon shrugged, giving Bruce a returned grin, but didn't let it show that maybe the billionaire wanted to rethink having his hair that way later on. “I'll wash it later.”

 

“You're choice,” Gordon mumbled. He motioned Bruce to the counter where Alfred's cookie recipe lay and all the things Bruce would need to make cookies. “There you go.”

 

Bruce gave Gordon a worried look. “You aren't going to help me?”

 

“I said I would watch you, to be sure you didn't burn down my kitchen. I never said I would help you.” Gordon folded his arms over his chest smugly, leaning up against the kitchen counter. He watched as Bruce looked at the recipe card and then at the measuring cup in front of him. He took the one cup measure and the opened flour, measuring the two cups of flour into one of the mixing bowls. He looked at Gordon and smirked.

 

“Easy,” Bruce said, taking the one-fourth measuring cup and did the same. He then added the baking soda and salt. In the second bowl he mixed together the brown sugar, sugar, butter and eggs. Bruce then slowly mixed all the dry ingredients to the wet. Once mixed thoroughly he added the chocolate chips. Bruce turned the oven on to let it preheat and then found a spoon and began to take rounded spoonfuls of battered, placing them on the already sprayed tray.

 

Bruce placed the first two rounds in the oven and looked over at Gordon with a very pleased smirk on his face.

 

“So how was it that the last time you attempted this with 'Miss Kyle', you two nearly burnt down the kitchen?” Gordon asked. It was more of curiosity as to whom this woman was more than anything else. Not that Jim Gordon was jealous, because Alfred did say it was a good three years ago, if not more.

 

Bruce rolled his eyes. “We were distracted,” he offered lightly, obviously not wanting to get into it. Gordon raised an eyebrow at him, arms still folded over his chest, watching the younger man now squirm in the uncomfortable change of topic. Bruce took a few steps closer to Gordon, placing his hand on either of his arms, looking him in the eye. “She was the next woman I was with after Rachel died. She gave me hope that I could move on and I thought for sure it would be with her. But she ended up not being the person I thought she was.”

 

There was hint of sadness in Bruce tone, as if this 'Kyle' woman was someone else he had loved dearly and lost. Another emotional tragedy for Bruce Wayne. Gordon wanted to say something heartfelt and profound there, but he couldn't seem to find the words; nothing seemed pliable or right on his tongue. He knew nothing of this woman and in saying anything he knew he might just sound spiteful. Bruce squeezed Gordon's arms with his hands and then bent his head to kiss him. It wasn't like earlier, where Bruce pushed himself on Gordon and took what he wanted – no this was soft and careful, much like the first time they kissed.

 

Their lips didn't do a full meet, they just hovered on the edge, breathing each other's shallow breaths, and locking gazes. It was a wonder to Gordon how he hadn't seen Bruce for more than he was sooner – how any one didn't see it. Then again, Gordon had another life before this, one with his loving wife, one that didn't have confusion or billionaires. Just Batman, but Batman was less confusing back then and blended seamlessly into the shadows after every meeting. This were definitely different now.

 

Gordon didn't mind though, because after all he and his family went through over the last year, Bruce was the one thing that saved them all from falling apart. Mostly Jimmy, who needed that guiding hand and who better than Bruce. Now Jimmy was just a typical teenage boy and Gordon almost wished for the quiet, reserved Jimmy who didn't even complain and wallowed in his room. Almost, but he wouldn't trade his son for the world.

 

A beeping from the timer on the stove drove them from their embrace. Bruce let go and took a potholder from the oven door handle, taking the two trays of cookies out and replaced them with two more trays. Gordon watched him and then motioned to the mixing bowls again.

 

“You have to make more than one batch,” Gordon said smoothly. “Cookies at a party with a bunch of teens isn't going to last long.” Bruce glared at him, taking his hands and pulling him close to him.

 

“You said three trays, I have two done and two more baking. I'm done.” Bruce grinned at him mischievously, but Gordon was pushing him away and grabbing the bowls and measuring cups and putting them into Bruce's hands.

 

“You wanted to help,” Gordon said with a smirk. Bruce frowned, looking down at the bowls and then at Gordon again. There was that little lost puppy look on his face that always made Gordon give in to him. “Fine, I'll help you.” He took the bowls from Bruce and dragged him by the sleeve over to the counter and began to measure out the flour. Bruce merely stood there and watched him, contently gazing him over. “You're supposed to be helping.”

 

Bruce leaned back against the counter, to Gordon's right, facing him. He picked up the baking soda and handed it to Gordon, smiling innocently. “There,” he said confidently. Gordon looked at the orange box in his hand and then to Bruce, and blinked at him a few times. Bruce didn't seem to get the hint.

 

“I swear I will throw this bowl of flour at you if you don't start helping,” Gordon warned, measuring out the baking soda. Bruce laughed and folded his arms over his chest, raising both eyebrows at him.

 

“Oh? Some how I don't think you'd –” Bruce began but before he could finish Gordon took the bowl and dumped the flour over his head. For a few seconds Bruce just stood there, not saying a word and not moving. He finally sighed, tipping the bowl back off his head and placed it gently onto the counter. His hair was covered a thick layer of flour that dusted his long eyelashes and slid down his nose and to his shoulders. Gordon held back the urge to laugh, making a slight snort covered by a cough, instead.

 

Gordon covered his mouth with his hand, conveniently hiding the grin that was threatening to cross his face. Bruce still hadn't said anything, taking a deep breath he blew away some of the flour that was resting near his lips. Gordon reached out a hand to help him brush off the flour from his face, but Wayne grabbed his wrist, glaring at him through a layer of white powder. Carefully, Bruce reached to the counter with his free hand and grabbed a handful of flour from the bag, and narrowed his eyes on Gordon.

 

“Don't you dare,” Gordon warned for the second time in less than five minutes. Bruce shook his head and threw the handful of flour into Gordon's face, causing him to inhale a puff of it and his glasses being powered with a thin layer. Gordon grabbed the thing nearest to him, and that happened to be – because of the heat in the house – a stick of very soft butter. He took it and haphazardly mushed it into Bruce's face, and he could have sworn he heard the younger man laugh.

 

“Oh that is it!” Bruce growled lowly, wiping his face with his hands. Gordon quickly removed his glasses before Bruce had a chance to make his next move. He put the glasses on the counter just as Bruce came at him with a handful of the butter and flour mixture from his own face. Gordon could feel the greasy butter sliding down his nose and cheeks, hearing a slight splatter on the floor. Gordon wasn't sure what else they had but he reached out the next nearest thing and found the sugar and threw that at Bruce just before dodging another fist full of butter glop that was thrown in his direction.

 

Gordon went around the side of the counter, near the living room, hands on the counter top and ready run for the back door if Bruce tried again. He had to admit, he hadn't done anything like this since he and Barbara were first married and had their first fight over who would do the dishes every night. They ended up in a water fight with the sink nozzle which led to to the bedroom. This was slightly different, he and Bruce were not fighting. This merely out of spite and fun. Gordon felt at least twenty-five again. A strange and uplifting feeling, if nothing else.

 

Bruce seemed to give up on throwing more at Gordon, too far away to have anything of powder substance make it's ways over the counter effectively. He saw Bruce's stance change and knew he was coming around the counter to get him, so he ran for the back door, vaguely hearing the annoyed yelps of Babs and Alfred from behind them. He also heard Bruce curse as it sounded like he tripped over something by the back door. Gordon ran out onto the back porch, aware that he really had no where else to go. Not even seconds behind him Bruce tackled him to the ground, one hand behind his back to lesson the blow.

 

Bruce was laying to his left, one arm holding him down and leaning over him. Catching his breath, Gordon reached up and grasped Bruce's face in his hands and brought his head down to his and kissed him. He licked the flour and butter mixture from the younger man's lips. They parted lips and Bruce leaned his forehead into Gordon, grinning at him.

 

“I think I know why you nearly burnt the kitchen down last time,” Gordon whispered, gazing into Bruce's eyes. Bruce breathed a sigh and nuzzled his nose against Gordon's, closing his eyes.

 

“Maybe,” he whispered. “But you're a lot more fun than she was.” _She_ being the _Kyle_ woman that kept being brought up. Bruce opened his eyes again, bringing a hand to Gordon's face and brushing some loose flour from his mustache. Maybe he thought Gordon had some insecurities, but the words he said next couldn't hurt to be heard. “I only want you – just you. I know when I look at you, now that everything is so clear, that I know I found what it was that was missing.”

 

That whole puzzle of everything happening for a reason and Barbara's death came to mind. Maybe it was the truth, maybe it was meant to happen this way. Maybe Gordon was the piece that Bruce needed in his life. Bruce was Gotham's savior so maybe Gordon was Bruce's. There was definitely a change in the billionaire's demeanor since he came clean about being Batman, since he let Gordon in on everything. Since Gordon and his children let Bruce into their lives and gave him a family.

 

Bruce was happy, something that he faked a lot but Gordon knew was never very genuine. Gordon wiped the butter mixture off of Bruce's face, but it didn't really help. Bruce smiled at him for the attempt. He shook his head and light shower of white powder fell down over Gordon's face. They both laughed. Bruce stood and helped Gordon to his feet. Inside they could still hear Babs yelling, this time about the mess in the kitchen.

 

Gordon took Bruce's hand. “I want you to know before we die,” he started in a playful tone, “that I'm glad we finally made it to his point.” He was sure Bruce understood. It was about the trust and honesty, between Batman and Gordon, Bruce and Jim. A year ago he would haven't thought either was capable of either man, because there were always secrets to Batman and Bruce. But when the secrets surfaced everything made sense. So here they were, hand-in-hand, and walking into the impending wrath of one Babs Gordon.

 

Death wish? Most likely.


	6. Chapter 6

Babs was far from pleased with her father and Bruce. She didn't let it be verbally known, as Alfred had his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. He gave her a warm, heartfelt smile and moved past her to Bruce and Gordon, ushering them into the kitchen. Gordon knew that Alfred never usually interfered with anything unless he saw that maybe he could help. Babs, Gordon saw as he looked back at his daughter over the counter, was on the verge of a break down. He glanced to Bruce who was already looking very regretful of their actions. Alfred stood before them, arms over his chest, and staring at them sternly.

 

“I don't expect an explanation,” Alfred said, looking mostly to Bruce in that parental way that made even Gordon squirm a little. Gordon was sure the older gentleman was going to say more, a stern scolding on food fights and causing Babs to have a conniption fit. But Alfred merely looked them both over, sighed and then shook his head. He turned on his heels and left the kitchen. Gordon looked to Bruce who looked to Gordon, both very confused.

 

“He does that,” Bruce murmured through unmoving lips, obviously not wanting Alfred to hear or see him. Gordon looked Bruce over, then himself, and then the kitchen. There was a floury, buttery mess all over the counters and floors. The last batch of cookies that had been in the oven were out – because of Alfred – and on the stove; a little crisp, but salvageable. Gordon sighed.

 

“I'm gonna go talk to Babs real quick,” he said, touching Bruce's arm slightly as he started to walk out of the kitchen.

 

“I'll start in here,” Bruce replied as Gordon walked into the living room, finding Babs sulking in a corner, staring at her streamers in one hand and then to her Dad as he approached.

 

She didn't say anything, merely glared at him and then went back to looking like she was being busy making important decoration decisions. Gordon reached over and grabbed the paper streamer roll from her hands and tossed it down on the chair next to them. He then took both her hands, making her look at him again. She obviously on the verge of crying; breaking down.

 

“Sweetheart,” Gordon started, wanting to wrap his arms around her in a tight, comforting hug, but considering he was covered in raw cookie mess, he figured she wouldn't like that very much. “I'm so sorry.” Even if it didn't feel like enough, that there could have been more he could have said, she smiled at him knowingly.

 

“No,” she sighed, controlled. “I'm sorry.” She titled her head slightly, rolling her a eyes a little. “I was talking to Alfred a few minutes ago and he set a few things in perspective for me.” She paused. “Have I really been that bad?”

 

Gordon opened his mouth to agree, but instead he shook his head. “Bad, yes. _That_ bad, no. It's pretty understandable considering everything you've been going through the past few weeks.” He brushed a hair away from her face, taking her chin in his fingers for a moment, looking her straight in the eyes. “I'm sorry about the mess, okay? We're going to clean it up and make everything perfect for you.”

 

Babs smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek, but then pulled back in disgust, wrinkling up her nose at him. They both laughed. “Think you could get a shower before the party, too?” She stood on her tip-toes and looked over Gordon's shoulder at Bruce. “Be sure he does, too. I'd hate to have Bruce Wayne at my party looking like he got into a fight with his chef.”

 

Gordon laughed. “Done. I'll let you get back to decorating.” He winked at her, went to turn but she grabbed his hand, and he turned back to face her questioningly.

 

“I'm happy for you. You seem really happy and that makes me happy... Despite the mess.” She smiled at him warmly, letting go of his hand. Babs, though like her mother in the sense that when things needed to get done she turned into the queen of being bossy, was very insightful as well. She knew, despite her own troubles and worries right then, that Gordon was actually happy for the first time in months. Even though he and Bruce might have made quite a mess, they hadn't meant it as a poke at her in anyway.

 

He returned her smile and walked back into the kitchen, taking the broom from the side of the refrigerator and started to sweep the contents on the floor into the dustpan. Bruce was washing down the counters, making it obvious that he was merely throwing most of it onto the floor for Gordon to sweep up.

 

“You mind?” Gordon asked in mockingly rude tone. Bruce wiped more flour mixture onto the floor, avoiding Gordon's gaze. “Hey!” But again, Bruce ignored him and continued down the counter until their was nothing left and everything was on the floor where Gordon had already swept. He stopped sweeping and stared at Bruce, who was now putting the dishes in the sink to be washed so they could start over with making cookies in a bit.

 

Gordon tapped Bruce on the shoulder. The billionaire turned back to him, an innocent smile on his lips. “Jim?” he questioned and Gordon handed him the broom handle. Bruce looked at it, then Gordon, then the floor. “Fine,” he said as he started to sweep, moving out of Gordon's way. Gordon washed the dishes and had them dried by the time Bruce was done. By then Alfred had finished helping Babs put up her streamers and the rest of the decorations.

 

The butler walked into the kitchen approvingly. “I do say it looks much better now,” he quipped quite quaintly. He took the newly cleaned bowls and measuring cups from Gordon. “I'll get these started. I suggest you two get cleaned before you dirty any other part of the house with your filth.”

 

Bruce started down the hall towards Gordon's bedroom, Gordon close behind, but he stopped at Jimmy's room. He knocked on the door and the teen opened it, backpack in hand. He looked his Dad over at least three times before he shook his head, stepped out into the hall way with him, and closed the door.

 

“Do I even want to ask?” Jimmy questioned, looking down the hall just as Bruce disappeared into the bedroom. “No, I don't think I do.” He looked back to his father. “I'm going to ride my bike Larry's. His mom is too busy to come pick me up. Is that okay?”

 

Gordon shrugged. “I don't see why not. Just keep your cell phone on and call me if anything happens.” Gordon felt more comfortable with his son not riding his bike to his friends' but at the same time he had to trust that his son wouldn't get into any trouble. Jimmy had been fairly good in school despite the one incident a few months ago. He had to give the teen some credit. Jimmy raised his hand to his head and gave Gordon a little salute before starting down the hall towards the garage to find his bike.

 

The boy turned around for a moment. “Dad?” he asked, and Gordon raised his eyebrows at him in question. Jimmy smiled at him mischievously. “Don't do anything I wouldn't do,” he teased, throwing a wave and disappearing around the corner.

 

Whatever _that_ was supposed to mean. Gordon walked to his bedroom where Bruce was already searching for something new to wear. The billionaire had a few outfits that he left at Gordon's house just in case and the only one had left was a pair of khaki pants and button down plaid shirt that was mostly meant for lounging around in. Gordon shrugged at him; it was going to have to work unless Bruce wanted to run out and buy something different.

 

“It's not horrible,” Gordon commented, nodding at the outfit. Bruce shrugged, laying it out on the bed. Gordon put his hand on the door handle. “I think I may actually take a shower I don't think this cookie batter is going to come out so easily.” He walked out of the bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom. He entered, going to close the door behind him, but found it wouldn't budge. Bruce was standing in the way. The younger man entered, closing the door behind and twisting the lock on the door.

 

“There is no point in wasting water,” Bruce said rather slowly, or at least it sounded that way. Maybe it was just Gordon's imagination from the way Bruce moved like a panther towards him; long legs taking the strides between them until they were close enough to feel each other's shallowing breaths. Gordon couldn't really disagree there.

 

\-----

 

Babs' party was going well. Gordon knew maybe three of her friends from the party she had a few months ago for her birthday and the rest, he had no idea. Bruce was trying his best to be polite to all the kids, who were in awe of him. Many, obviously, couldn't see why or how Babs' family knew Bruce Wayne. At nine-thirty or so Gordon started to wonder where Jimmy was. He was told be home by eight thirty at the latest.

 

He thought that maybe he'd give the teen another fifteen minutes before calling his cell phone to see where he was. If Jimmy wanted to stay the night Larry's he just had to call and ask. It would mean less worrying for Gordon.

 

But fifteen minutes did pass, and Gordon finally called Larry's parents. They said Jimmy left almost two hours ago. Gordon looked into the house from the back yard at Bruce, who caught his eye. Gordon went to go back inside, to call Bruce out to talk to him when his phone rang again.

 

“Gordon,” he said into the phone.

 

“Jim?” a concerned Renee Montoya asked. Gordon didn't like the sound of her tone, not at all. He knew then that whatever she was going to say, it wasn't going to be good. “Your son has been taken to the hospital.”

 

\----

 

Gordon had left Alfred and Babs to attend to the guests at the party, even though Babs had said she wanted to go with Gordon, he told she did have an obligation to her guests. Bruce was as close to Gordon's side as he could manage in public. Gordon wanted so bad for Bruce to just take his hand and tell him that everything was going to be fine. Everything would be fine though, Jimmy was a strong kid and worse has happened, right? Gordon squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, stopping to refocus. A hand touched his shoulder, squeezing it.

 

“Jim?” Bruce asked softly. Gordon opened his eyes again and shook his head, but never answered the other man. Gordon took up a faster pace as they rounded the corner of the children's ward of the hospital. A few months shy of being in the adult ward, this was where Gordon was told his son would be. Bruce was paces behind him, not trying to keep up, but just keeping a distance. Gordon stopped at the counter to ask what room his son was in when he saw Montoya, Stephens, and Bullock down the hall, waiting just outside a room.

 

Gordon ran the rest of the way, stopping just short of the room when he saw in the tiny window the fragile sight of Jimmy. The boy – barely recognizable through the blue, green, and purple bruising across his face and the white gauze bandages covering his chest – was at least breathing. Gordon threw the door open, ignoring the silent stares of the three detectives trying to figure out what needed to be said. Gordon rushed to Jimmy's side, stopping himself from taking his son's hand as he noticed that both arms had casts on them. Gordon shook his head, the reeling in his mind of how that after noon he had doubted himself for a split second on letting Jimmy ride his bike to his friend's house.

 

He felt so dizzy, ready to drop to his knees when a steady hand guided him to a chair to the right of the bed. Everything felt like it was falling apart around him, every little piece of _everything_. It all seemed too good to be true and he really should have known better with Gotham. Gordon looked up at Bruce, who was staring at Jimmy almost purposefully. The billionaire's eyes flicked over to Gordon and his mood changed from that stone gaze of Batman's to the caring one of Bruce.

 

“My son, Bruce,” Gordon said. “Who would do this to _my_ son?” It was an honest question and he wanted an honest answer, but Bruce didn't have one for him. Instead, the Trio entered the room and Montoya stepped forward, a file in her hands. She held it out to Gordon but he only shook his head. “Just tell me.”

 

Montoya looked over at Bullock and Stephens for reassurance. They nodded at her. “We actually caught this one in the act. Another one of those drug testers off the street. He says he asked Jimmy for his bike and Jimmy refused... So he... Well...” Montoya herself was on the verge of tears, having known Jimmy for nearly six years, seen him grow up. Gordon shook his head and held up his hand for her to stop. He didn't want to know more – he didn't need to.

 

“Stop,” Gordon manage to say, his voice more demanding than he intended it to be. “Where is his doctor?” Bruce stirred next to him and was about to leave, probably to go find out, but Gordon grabbed his hand tightly, squeezing his hand gentle three times. Their little signal when they need the other to stay without giving much away.

 

The Trio all looked away, as if they weren't meant to see, but Gordon honestly didn't care at that point. Bullock mumbled something about going to find the doctor, finally, and left the room. Stephens buried his hands deep into his pockets and looked at Montoya uncomfortably.

 

“Could you two leave, please?” Gordon asked, trying not to sound ungrateful. Stephens and Montoya both nodded knowingly and left the room. The doctor entered just seconds later and again Bruce tried to leave, but Gordon flashed him a look this time, begging him to stay. Bruce stood back a few feet to allow Gordon the time he needed to get his answers.

 

“Commissioner,” the male doctor said, holding a clipboard in his hand. He offered his free hand to Gordon and he took it. “Pleasure to meet you, if even under these awful circumstances.” The doctor looked quickly over the clipboard and then back to Gordon. “You're son is in a coma. He received a massive head injury, luckily no fractures or major swelling that can't be monitored. Both arms are broken and he has a few cracked ribs as well. Right now we're mostly worried about the head trauma and keeping a close eye on things.”

 

Gordon felt the heat in his head drop and an icy cold chill run down his back. Comas were never good; some people never came out of them. This felt almost worse than when Barbara told him she was dying of cancer. This felt like another blow to head, another heart attack and another sacrifice. What good was it working for a city that kept dealing him bad cards. First Dent, then his wife, his heart attack and now Jimmy. Gordon swallowed the lump in his throat, his mouth dry as sandpaper, working his tongue to find the words.

 

“What are the chances he never wakes up?” Gordon asked through whine of tears that were threatening against his eyes. He held back everything he had, not wanting to break just yet – he couldn't afford it until he had answers.

 

“There is a good chance he will wake, Commissioner. It's just a matter of when. At the least, a few days, at the most a couple years. The trauma isn't bad enough that we expect him out that long, though. We're monitoring him constantly and his brain activity is very normal, nothing unusual.” The doctor offered a stiff smile, glancing behind Gordon at Bruce curiously. It seemed to make him a bit uncomfortable. “We, uh, have the latest technology as well...”

 

Gordon shook his head. “Thank you, doctor.” Gordon waved him off and the man left. Gordon approached Jimmy's bedside, caressing the only part of his son's hand he could see: his fingertips. Gordon closed his eyes. He knew that his son was going to be fine, but it wasn't _that_ that was bothering him now. It was the fact that these people, the mob, had done it yet again to him, to his family and he knew that they would stop at nothing.

 

Gordon let out a strangled sigh, trying to hold off the tears longer. He felt so weak and useless now. Bruce came up behind him and placed his hands on Gordon's shoulders, and he turned around in the younger man's arms and let Bruce hold _him_ for once. It didn't matter how it looked or if it was awkward or would feel like it later; right then he needed to know that he had one thing left to believe in. Bruce tightened his hold on him and Gordon buried his face into Bruce's shirt and finally let go of everything he had bottled up.

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Of all the damned things to happen to the Gordon family, this had to be one of the worst. There was the inevitable that happened to Barbara Gordon, but as far as tragedies this really took the cake. Bruce watched quietly as Gordon slept restlessly in the chair next to Jimmy's hospital bed. Dressed in in worn pair of blue jeans and one of those old, tacky plaid button-up shirts, Gordon looked especially frumpy, over-worked, and tired. It had been three days, and Jimmy showed no sign of of improving, but he wasn't getting worse either; he was merely in a limbo state and all they could do was wait and hope.

 

Bruce wished more than anything there was something he could do, something he put money towards, invest – anything – that would just make the teen wake up. He hated seeing Gordon so distraught and so frazzled. It was worse than when Barbara had been dying, Gordon knew then that his wife wasn't going to live but now, with Jimmy, it was a toss up. The doctors were sure the boy would be fine, but there was always room for complications; something could go wrong. Bruce didn't bother to voice his opinions on this, that doctors couldn't control everything, because he didn't want to worry Gordon.

 

It was hard not to worry though, Bruce had seen how the system could fail, how things could be overlooked so easily... It made his heart ache at the thought of Gordon losing another piece of his small family. Of every person that lived in Gotham, Jim Gordon was the one that deserved a happy ending. He did so much for the city without so much as to ask for much in return, and yet Gotham City continued to push and pull him under her raging sea, not giving him the chance to breathe. Even in retirement Gordon had no real rest.

 

There really had to be something else Bruce could do. There wasn't anything directly to the cause at hand he could do, but there was a way he could possibly get some better answers to problem that caused the mess. He'd been talking with Lucius Fox for weeks now on building the branch of Wayne Biotech and presenting a business merger with LexCorp Labs. The hope was in doing this that whoever was working with the mob and the experimental drug would approach them for further funding – thus getting the information they would need to bring down the operation. That was, of course, if all went as they planned.

 

The issue Bruce was having with it was that he didn't know too much about LexCorp, just what he learned from the media surrounding Alexander Luthor, or more famously known as Lex Luthor. Like Bruce, Luthor now ran his father's multi-billion dollar company and had been after Wayne Enterprises to do a business merger for quite a few years... Since Bruce had been back from traveling, to be exact.

 

Lucius had been talking with LexCorp for a while now, trying to iron out the details and it wasn't until a few months ago that he brought it up to Bruce again. It seemed timely, to say the least. And now, more than ever, Bruce was ready to push the deal forward and get down to business. If anything, and if nothing else, Bruce wanted to get his hands on whatever that experimental drug was the mob was using, and keep it away from those who didn't know what they were doing with it. At least then Gotham would be safer.

 

Even through all of it, Bruce knew the fight wouldn't be that easy. There was never anything simple with the mob, nothing simple with Gotham. And just having Batman out there made everyone more likely to make matters worse. Even though Batman was the protector of the city, it also made a lot of other lash out to push the limits. Especially with Batman still on the run as a killer – people thought this a good reason to test _his_ limits.

 

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut. When did everything become so complicated? If Alfred were here, if he had asked his oldest and dearest friend this question, the answer would be simple: since Batman arrived. Gotham was much simpler when people kept to themselves and pretended not to notice what was happening around them. But since Batman arrived, since he started to deal out his own justice, people became much more brash and careless, which complicated a lot of what Batman was trying to do.

 

And now all this, with the Gordon's family, the personal blows; it was all too much.

 

Bruce stood at the end of Jimmy's hospital bed, hands on the rails and bent slightly at the waist. The boy looked so fragile in this state, so innocent and naïve. The bruising on his face had faded, the swelling around his eyes had gone down... And yet he still laid there in sleep, a coma, unaware of anything that had happened. Bruce didn't want to feel, to admit he was attached to a family that wasn't rightly his own, but he couldn't help the emotions that swelled in his chest. It felt, oddly, like he was losing his _own_ son.

 

He remembered the day when Stephens had gone to the Gordon household and had to tell Barbara her husband was dead. He remember how she screamed at Batman, without knowing if he was really there. But most of all he remembered Jimmy. The lost look on the boys face, all of ten years old at the time, wondering what would happen, if his father _was_ really dead. And then he remembered the boy's face as Harvey Dent held a gun to his head and Gordon begged – down on his knees even – for Dent not to do it, that Gordon would give himself instead.

 

Bruce remembered taking a bullet for this kid; falling nearly to his death for him, to save him. And now it all seemed like a life time ago. It felt like it was for nothing.

 

Swallowing the self-pity and remorse collecting in his throat, Bruce took a deep breath and held back every single emotion that dared to escape him. The only thing he could afford to be right now was strong, for Gordon. Anything else, any other weakness, wouldn't do. He had to be what the older man needed, and that was a strong, firm hand and a shoulder to lean on. Bruce could have his time later when all was done and when things were right again.

 

If they were ever right again.

 

“You should get some sleep as well, Master Wayne,” Alfred said quietly from the door. Bruce turned his head just slightly, catching the silhouette of the older gentleman as he walked into the room. Bruce shook his head.

 

“I can't. It's worse than ever now to try and calm my mind,” he answered softly, as to not wake Gordon a few feet from him.

 

“Nightmares again?” Alfred asked, stepping up beside Bruce and looking down at the young boy. Alfred fingered the blankets the teen's feet, adjusting them slightly as if wanting to be helpful.

 

Bruce sighed, watching the blankets move at Alfred's touch and being reminded of when he was boy, just after his parents died. For years, even well into his later teens, Alfred would tuck him in and fix the blankets at his feet for good measure, mostly to assure that they were completely covered. He almost missed it, and at times like this he would have given anything to have those moments back, when he could just not care so much and sleep.

 

“Sir?” Alfred asked again. His hand had moved from Jimmy's feet to Bruce's shoulder without the billionaire so much as noticing. He did need sleep, he knew that... “Nightmares?”

 

“Yes. Awful ones, Alfred. Mostly blurs, images really,” Bruce explained, taking a deep, regulated breath. They were nightmares he didn't want to remember. He used to have them a lot as teen and well into his twenties, and they passed soon after he met Ducard. But as Bruce's sleep lessened over the years and the recently events with Gotham had gotten worse, the nightmares started to return with newer images. Sometimes, events that never happened.

 

“Might I inquire as to what these images were?” Alfred questioned. Bruce bit his lower lip, running both his hands through his hair in frustration. He honestly didn't want to think about it, but he also knew Alfred wouldn't drop the subject so lightly.

 

“My parents, that night. There is always so much of that, over and over again,” Bruce murmured to the older gentleman. He shook his head. “Lately, there are memories of Dent and the Gordon's but the outcome is never how it actually happened. The dream always ends with me being killed and Dent shooting Jimmy.” And the one he didn't say aloud, too afraid that if he spoke it then it would come true, was that Jimmy never got out of this coma, that he had been so beaten that he breathed his last breaths and Gordon broke. It was just a nightmare, though, and he needed to remember that.

 

“You need more sleep is what you need, “ Alfred said. “You aren't rested enough. You're taking on too much at one time. The city can survive without you for a few days, Master Wayne.”

 

Bruce shook his head quickly. “No. No, it cannot, Alfred. Not now, anyway.” He turned his whole body to face the man he had grown to see as his father, the person he turned to in his time of need and advice. “The minute I turn my back on this city, it will eat it's self alive. I cannot take even a day or it will crumble.”

 

Alfred looked him over wearily, reaching out and smoothing the lapels of his rumbled suit jacket that he had been wearing for two days now. “The city can wait. You are what is going to crumble if you don't rest.”

 

Bruce shook his head again, this time slowly and precise. “There is no rest for Batman.” Bruce side stepped Alfred, just a few finger length away from him, and walked out of the hospital room. He needed some air, to breath. He needed to feel the city around him and know that in the end he was going to win this war and that everything was going to be fine.

 

Perfectly fine.

 

\-----

 

Jim Gordon didn't want it to be known he had been awake. In fact, he was sure if he had made it aware of the two other men in the room, they would have stopped talking all together. Gordon opened his eyes slowly as Bruce walked out of the room and Alfred looked after him, obviously distraught. Gordon sat up in the chair and folded his hands over his stomach, looking at the butler worriedly. Alfred turned around, finally, and looked startled to find that Gordon was watching him.

 

“Goodness, Master Gordon,” he said politely, raising a hand to his chest, startled. “I didn't realize you were awake, sir.” Gordon didn't say a word, still processing the things he heard from Bruce; now not only was he worried about Jimmy, but he was worried about Bruce. Alfred seemed to catch on as the silence bore between them. “How much did you hear?”

 

“Enough,” Gordon replied rather emotionless. There were a few more long moments where neither of them said anything, just stared at the other unaware of what might need to be said, or what could be done now. Finally, Gordon sighed, giving his head an annoyed shake. “Why didn't he tell me he was having nightmares?”

 

Alfred took a seat on the side of the bed, care not to sit on the boy laying in the bed. He folded his hands in his laps and looked at Gordon in a very caring manner. “Perhaps he didn't want to worry you, sir.”

 

“Worry me? Alfred, it worries me more that he isn't telling me these things.” Gordon could feel the panic in his chest, the tightening around his heart and lungs, and he had to physically tell himself to breathe. Calmly, he took a few breath.

 

“Master Wayne is used to dealing with these matters on his own...” Alfred started to say but Gordon was shaking his head furiously. He couldn't tell if he was more upset that Bruce was even having nightmares at that he didn't tell Gordon and hadn't planned on it, either.

 

“Stop, just...” Gordon took a breath and lowered his tone, softer. “Stop. I don't like it. I don't like that he's out there physically and emotionally exhausted. He's going to get himself killed.”

 

Alfred lowered his eyes to his own hands. “Yes. I'm aware of this. You're aware of this. And Master Wayne is even more aware of this.” There was a pause, and Alfred looked back up, carefully meeting Gordon's eyes again. “He told me once when I mentioned he was likely to get himself killed one day that he was counting on it. It was not a matter of 'if' but a matter of 'when'. I believe that was around the time Miss Dawes attempted to get him to quit, but he wouldn't have that.”

 

Gordon furrowed his eyebrows. There was one thing he didn't know. Rachel had known about Bruce being Batman and yet never told Dent, never let out any of Bruce's secrets. Bruce trusted her with everything. That wasn't a issue right then. The issue was Bruce being reckless with himself and if the events of the last month and half continued, Bruce could end up in the same shape he had been weeks ago if not worse. And Gordon didn't want to think about worse, because Bruce had been beaten to a beautiful black and blue mess of blood, bruises and cracked ribs. Worse could be deadly.

 

Much like Jimmy was now. Only, Bruce hadn't gotten a head trauma, the cowl prevented a lot of that. Gordon didn't need this. He didn't need to be worried about Bruce on top of worrying about his son. Bruce was a grown man and one that could take care of himself, Gordon didn't need to be worried. He just had to keep telling himself that.

 

“He's stubborn, you know,” Alfred said with a light grin. Gordon returned the smile, but couldn't bring himself to choke out a laugh, even though he knew it was meant to soften the situation. A few moments passed and Alfred looked at the teenage boy in the bed, unmoving. “He's a fighter, your son. Saw a lot of Bruce at that age in him, that day at the park.”

 

Gordon was a bit startled at first by the mentioned of Bruce by name instead of title. Alfred wasn't looking at him, still glancing at the boy with one of those fatherly look about him. “Yeah,” was all Gordon could manage to bring his lips to say, his tongue laying lifeless in his mouth.

 

Alfred stood from the bed. “I'm going to get some tea from the cafeteria. Could I bring you back anything, Master Gordon?”

 

Gordon shook his head. “That's alright. I'm planning to go down later on when Babs gets here.” Alfred nodded his head and left the room in an orderly, swift pace.

 

The sun was setting over the the tops of the buildings, Gordon could see from the window. Babs was due here at any time, she had been in and out the last three days, in between getting her packing done for school, sorting out her paperwork, and every other loose end she had. He saw in her eyes just how much it was hurting her not to be able to just drop everything and be there with her brother. But life had priorities and Gordon had convinced her that Jimmy would be here when she finished them.

 

It was the only hope they could have for the situation.

 

Gordon walked over to the window, arms crossed over his chest, leaning his right shoulder into the glass. He knew, out there somewhere, Bruce was jumping rooftops in an attempt to get a grip on himself. Or to finally find out who the mob was working with in the experiments with the drug. Either way, Bruce was not there with him at his side.

 

Not that he expected him to be there every moment of every day until Jimmy woke, because at some point life had to move forward – nothing stood still in the tiny hospital room.

 

A knock at the door and Gordon turned around to see Babs walk in, two cups of hot coffee in her hands. She walked over and handed him one and stood with him, looking out the window. “How is he?” she asked softly.

 

“No change,” Gordon replied, sipping the coffee. “But tomorrow's another day, maybe he'll be lucky then.”


	8. Chapter 8

If it weren't for his oath and promise to Mister and Misses Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth probably would have left their young, billionaire son years ago. Most often than not Bruce listen to him, but it had become less and less over the years since the young man had returned from his around the world travels. In the present, Bruce hadn't really listened to a word Alfred said in weeks. Which, from Alfred's perspective, was the young man's loss, not his own. Being older and wiser had it's advantages and knowledge, but only if the one listening actually took it to heart. Was a shame, really, Alfred knew for sure he was right this time around.

 

The last time Bruce had slept more than two hours at one time was two months ago. He might not have been at home all the time for Alfred to monitor (and monitor he did, even without Bruce's knowing), but with the help Bruce's newest – and hopefully long lasting – romantic interest: Jim Gordon. The commissioner often reported that when they went to sleep at night Bruce was often still awake and when Gordon woke, Bruce never looked well rested. Now it was becoming apparent as to why exactly, even if Gordon had had no idea.

 

The nightmares, Alfred knew well enough, were a struggle for Bruce as a child and for them to resurface at this point in his life, during such a stressing time, did not bode well for the man. Bruce had a habit of running from his problems until they were too out of control and he had no choice but to act, and that rarely went well. In fact, Alfred could almost vividly remember the night Bruce came back to the bunker, about to fall off the Batpod, blood dripping down out the side of the Kevlar plates, where the weak points were. He remembered the hollow of Bruce's eyes blacker than usual, and when the armor finally came off, the bruising along his back and the bullet wound that caressed his side. He remembered thinking that had Bruce really faced the issue head on when it first presented itself, the issue that was the Joker, Bruce could have avoided that whole situation.

 

Dent could have been saved. Rachel would have never died. And Batman would not be a wanted murderer.

 

There was no room for wishing things had turned out differently. Bruce was a grown man, now, making his own choices and doing what he thought was best. Alfred only wished this time around the younger man had actually taken his advice for more than it was worth. There were bound to be more than a handful of mistakes to come in the next few months, Alfred could tell. This incident with Jimmy, it was just the first of many.

 

Alfred sat at the cafeteria table and sipped his tea. He usually enjoyed the moments where he was alone, time to take in the world, but today he was finding it a little frightening. The silence in the air, voiceless and dank, reminded him that in this city you had to expect the worst.

 

\----

 

In the dark, in the night where nothing mattered but the bustle of the city and patrons that occupied the streets, Bruce stood perched atop the rooftop of some business building, watching the streets below. He had been following a group of street punks for a few blocks now, the exact kind of people they had been finding pumped full of whatever that drug was the mob was dealing in. These kids, these teenage to young adult men, had no idea what they were about to get themselves into, if of course Bruce was right.

 

And he was, of course. The group was approached by someone in a dark coat, couldn't really be seen from the height Bruce was at, but the person was talking to the group of men, handing them each a business card. Curious, really, that these exchanges were done so openly on the streets. Unless they thought the Batman wasn't much of a threat. Given the last time Bruce had a hand-to-hand run in with of the groups of doped up experiments he didn't really come out of it unscathed. In fact he was down right sure he was gonna die that day. He still couldn't remember how he got out of that mess...

 

The person handing out cards left, quickly as he came, and the group of men were talking lowly, pocketing the cards and going separate directions. Probably to whatever shelter or broken home they came from. Bruce clipped the binoculars back onto his utility belt, stepping up to the ledge of the building, ready to the shoot the grappling hook to the ledge on the next building, to follow at least one of these men. He pulled the gun out, aimed...

 

“You aren't taking the direct approach?” asked a feminine voice from behind him. Slowly Bruce turned, dropping the grappling gun to the ground. Dressed a sleek, black leather, full body suit, boots, gloves, and cat ear-shaped cowl, was a woman Bruce once gave his heart years ago.

 

“And what exactly _is_ the direct approach?” Bruce replied, keeping his voice to a low growl. She laughed at him, hands on her hips, shaking her head.

 

“You never change,” she said. Her green eyes met his for a moment. “You always were so stubborn.”

 

There were a few more long moments where they said nothing, a silence thick enough that Bruce could have sworn he could breathe it in. Luckily, she kept her distance, a good ten feet from him, which was where Bruce wanted her stay. The last thing he needed were memories flooding his thoughts – memories of Selina Kyle. That ended over two years ago, on a bitter note at that. This was the first Bruce had seen of her since...

 

“You know, I am sorry,” she said casually, her tone caught in the middle of sincerity and apology, mixed with what looked to be hope. She took two steps forward, and Bruce two took back, watching his footing on the ledge behind him. “You don't forgive me?” A sly grin crossed her lips. Bruce wasn't quite in the mood to deal with Selina, her timing was terrible given the situations and scenarios Bruce wasn't mentally dealing with. That and his lack of sleep made everything harder.

 

“What are you doing here?” he demanded as she took the remaining steps between them, standing in front of Bruce now, looking him over and seeming rather irritated at his standoffish attitude.

 

“Following you,” she replied, gesturing a hand in the air. “You're not an easy Bat to track down these days. I phoned the manor and the penthouse for two days but no one answered. And you seemed to have changed your cellphone number.”

 

“Been busy,” Bruce murmured. He wished now he hadn't turned around, hadn't let her get to him. He should have been following one of those men. He looked down the alley, leaning his head back to see if any of them were still waiting around.

 

“So I see,” Selina said as she walked past Bruce. She knelt down on her knees, palms on the ledge as she leaned over the side to see what he had been looking for. “What's the case this time? Another psycho riddle master? The Joker again?”

 

Bruce thought about just not answering and leaving, but something told him it might be worth this little time to stick a round for a moment more. “Not sure, actually. Experimental drug of choice being funded by the mob. We've been taking in people left and right who've been exposed to the drug, but none of them tell us more than we already know.”

 

“We?” Selina asked, looking back up at Bruce.

 

“Jim Gordon,” Bruce answered, trying to keep his voice as emotionless as possible.

 

“Oh, right, him.” She rolled her eyes at Bruce. “I can't believe you still partner with him.” Oh that's right, Selina didn't like Jim Gordon, mainly because he caught her once and nearly had her thrown into jail. Batman had gotten her out of that one quick, explaining she had nothing to do with the robbery that had taken place (that he accused her of, not that she hadn't ever robbed anyone before). She never let him live it down. Bruce assumed it was also one of the many reason she up and left one day, leaving him only a note on the nightstand.

 

“Jim is...” Bruce hesitated, and it was only that few seconds that made it clear to Selina just what was going on.

 

She smirked at him, bringing her knees under her and standing. She stood a little too close for Bruce's comfort, because even though it had been two years the hurt was still there and seeing – feeling her – this close brought back memories he didn't want. He had his heart-broken, for the second time, and he had mended it and moved on to something – someone – better than Selina. Someone that wasn't a criminal. It made him almost physically sick to think about, that he had let get away so much for months and she didn't show gratitude to him later when she left. It wasn't likely to happen again.

 

“And here I thought you were such a lady's man,” Selina cooed gently as she touched the armor plates on his chest.. “I'm sure now that I'm back in town –” He quickly brought his hands up, capturing her wrist with his hands..

 

He looked her sternly in the eye. “Don't,” he said roughly. She pulled her wrists away, rubbing one with her fingers. “You should go before I turn you in.”

 

Another smirk from Selina. “You wouldn't. You forget that I know who you are, too. The tables can easily be turned.” She placed her hands casually on her hips. “Plus, I have information you might want.” She tipped her head thoughtfully to the side, examining Bruce. “It's going to cost you though, if you want it.”

 

That was the deal wasn't it? She probably showed up thinking she could hold the information as a bargaining tool for a date, but seeing as she figured out that Bruce and Gordon were likely an item, she saw that she would need something else. Something Bruce wasn't likely to give her, so her trying was useless and him even answering even more so. Bruce shook his head.

 

“Whatever it is, I don't need it,” Bruce growled, taking a step up to the ledge again, grasping the grappling gun in his hand once more. For a split second he thought maybe he should ask her what she wanted, but showing her any kind of trust was for the most part a bad idea.

 

“You'll think differently later. You'll know where to find me,” she said as she reached out for his hand, leaving a small card in his palm. She was gone before Bruce could even react. He looked down at the card, white with small black paw prints on it, reading: _Selina Kyle_ \- _Owner of the Kitty Cat Lounge_. Very typical and very Selina.

 

Bruce closed his eyes. What if she did have information he needed, what if she had been able to find something that he and Gordon had been missing? What if... But there were too many of those, and his gut told him he didn't need Selina. It was a bad idea. After all two years he moved forward, tried to regain himself and the life he had before she came along. Find himself again. It was worse than when Rachel died. Rachel tried to change him, but Selina took him for what he was, a rouge and vigilante, a savior to the people, and not once did she ask anything of him. He had loved her, but that was over and any spark he had had for her was gone now.

 

All Bruce could think of was Jim Gordon.

 

What was he doing out here? There was nothing new he could acquire now. He should be back at the hospital with Gordon, being there for him. Supporting him.

 

\-----

 

Gordon stood outside the door of his son's hospital room, leaning against the wall. He decided he needed a breather from the room, to stop thinking about all of it if even for a little while. Babs was in there, reading a book aloud, in hopes that some kind of familiar voice might just wake her younger brother. It was a nice a thought, on her part, but Gordon found it unlikely. Everything, if Gordon was honest, felt unlikely these days.

 

He turned his head to the loud patter of shoes coming down the hall. Bruce rounded the corner, dressed in a clean suit, but his hair was mussed and the hollow of his eyes were darker than ever, the lack of sleep apparent on his face now. Why hadn't Gordon seen it before? Bruce approached, stopping just before the door, in front of Gordon.

 

“I'm sorry,” Bruce said softly. Gordon furrowed his brows in confusion. “For leaving. You were asleep and I needed some air.”

 

Gordon shook his head, looking Bruce over and just how wary he looked. Something was different though, something guarded about the billionaire, as if he was trying hard to keep something to himself. Something... sad? Gordon reached out a hand and touched Bruce's shoulder with his finger tips, watching the tension melt away slowly. Bruce reached up and took Gordon's hand in his own.

 

“You could have told me, you know,” Gordon said softly, pulling Bruce closer to him, so he didn't have to speak louder and so that their voices wouldn't carry. “About the nightmares.”

 

Shamefully, Bruce looked down at his feet. “Only children complain about their nightmares.” His eyes trailed back up to Gordon slowly, the redness in them evident from this lack of sleep and stress. A few nurses walked past them, eyeing them both carefully, but neither he nor Bruce moved or looked at the two women. Gordon tugged Bruce closer, not quite caring what anyone thought just then. If things were going to continue to fall apart he should be allowed some comfort without worry of what people thought.

 

He placed a hand on Bruce's hip and another on his face, thumb caressing the dark circles under his eyes. “Sooner or later it will catch up with you. The fatigue will wear you down and you're going to slip up.”

 

Bruce looked as if he were going break then, maybe fold under himself and into Gordon's arms, but his muscles tensed again, and his eyes hardened. He really was stubborn. “I don't slip up,” Bruce said sternly. Even if Gordon wanted to believe him, he knew it wasn't true; Batman wasn't invincible. “How is he?” _Of course, change the subject._ Gordon dropped his hands to his sides, walking back towards the door of the room.

 

“Nothing has changed, if that's what you're asking,” Gordon replied, pushing the door opened and walking inside. Bruce followed behind. Babs looked up from the book, bending the tip of the page to mark her spot. She set the book down. She slipped past them.

 

“I'm going to go find Alfred,” she said gently as she touched her father's arm. She walked out of the room and closed the door behind her. Gordon looked down at his son and then to Bruce. The billionaire didn't say a word, but Gordon could silently he was fighting with himself over not having been there for the boy this time.

 

“As a parent, I've learned that you can't always protect your children from everything. Sooner or later they have to learn on their own,” Gordon said, taking Bruce's hand. “You couldn't have known – _I_ couldn't have known – this would happen.”

 

Bruce closed his eyes tightly and shook his head, almost furiously. “But I could have prevented this – had I worked just a little harder, searched a little deeper...” Gordon let go of Bruce's hand and took him by the shoulders, turning him towards him. Bruce opened his eyes slowly, meeting Gordon's gaze cautiously.

 

“You can't think that way, Bruce. You've done everything in your power to find out anything at all. We all have. Sometimes we can't stop what's meant to happen.” Gordon slid his right hand up Bruce's shoulder, to his neck and then his face, touching the billionaire's defined jawline with his fingertips. He let his touch trail up to Bruce's hair, tangling his fingers into his silky brown locks, watching as the younger man's broody attitude started to dwindle at the distraction. But then he's face hardened again, his lips turning into the grim, thin line as he started to become upset.

 

“ _This_ was meant to happen, Jim? How can you even say that?” Bruce asked as he tore away from Gordon, motioning a hand at the blond teen in the hospital. Bruce's eyes were angry, Gordon see that; every bit of the man in front of him was hurting inside just as everyone else. Maybe Gordon's choice of words weren't the right ones. “Your wife dying of cancer was meant to happen. Your son being beaten nearly to death was not. I could have –”

 

Gordon took two steps towards Bruce and put his hands on his shoulder, gazing at him over the top of his glasses. “Stop. You know I didn't mean it like that.” He let their gazes linger a little longer, letting the billionaire calm, waiting for his tension to melt a little before he continued. “We've been doing everything that we can. We can't keep blaming ourselves for this.”

 

“Jim...” Bruce whispered, but his eyes were averted away from Gordon, to something behind him and slowly Gordon turned around. Jimmy's hand had started to move and his eyes were open, searching the room. Gordon's hands slid from Bruce's shoulder, grasping his hand for a brief squeeze before he went to his son's side. “I'll get the doctor,” Bruce said quietly as he slipped from the room.

 

Gordon stared at his son, taking his hand and whispered reassuringly to him. Three days was a lot less than Gordon had been expecting. He looked at Jimmy's pale blue eyes as they searched Gordon's face for something, maybe an answer, but the boy managed a weak sort of smile.

 

“Dad?”


	9. Chapter 9

It felt weird for Jim Gordon to watch from the outside of his room as the doctor and nurses looked over his son, asking him questions and getting answers, when all Gordon wanted were answers of his own and to hug his son. But there was also the feeling of knowing that for Jimmy's own good they had to make sure he was okay, that he wouldn't be slipping back into a comatose state. Bruce was standing behind him, not saying a word for once, which seemed odd as well. The billionaire seemed to have a lot on his mind, though Gordon thought it ought be one less thing now that Jimmy was awake and talking. Bruce seemed more reserved though since the teen had woken.

 

“It's a damn miracle is what that is,” came a proper British accent from behind him. Gordon turned around and Alfred stood there peeking over his shoulder into the room. “Lucky boy after such a ordeal.”

 

Gordon turned to face the older gentlemen, catching the hopeful look in his eyes. “Very lucky. I heard them mention that they hadn't expected him to be awake let alone so alert to soon.” Gordon sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, looking down at his first for even thinking what he said next; “I'm still so worried that something will go wrong.” At that Gordon caught Bruce's eye, the younger man swallowed visibly, obvious that he was still blaming himself for the whole matter. Alfred placed a hand on Gordon's shoulder comfortingly.

 

“I'm sure he'll be fine. He's alert and talking, that's a splendid sign,” Alfred said, but Gordon had stopped listening as he watched Bruce run a hand through his hair and then start walking down the hall way. Alfred turned to see what it was that Gordon was staring at, scoffing at the billionaire. He looked back to Gordon, who met Alfred's steady gaze once more. “You'll find Master Wayne goes through bouts like this. He'll come out of it soon, especially when he sees that your son is alive and well and no real damage has been done.”

 

But that's what Gordon was afraid of, damage. Events such as what was reported to have happened to Jimmy, mainly the head trauma, never went under the radar or without some consequence. The boy was lucky not to have any brain swelling or hemorrhaging, nothing that require surgery; but Gordon still had that nagging voice in the back of his head that suggested something was just not quite right. Despite the situation, it was just too good to be true. Only time would really tell, time that Gordon wished would stand still.

 

“But what if things only get worse from here, Alfred? What will happen to Bruce if everything continues to fall far from his control?” Gordon asked, watching as Bruce rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

 

“I'm not rightly sure, sir. When Miss Dawes was killed he didn't sleep for weeks, not well anyway. He'll likely sink in on himself again, bury himself from the world until it either passes or the case is solved,” Alfred explained. Gordon had a feeling he'd be seeing a lot more of the less expressive Bruce and less of the Bruce he had started to fall in love with. He had to keep telling himself that this was a part of Bruce Wayne he would have to endure, to comfort, if they both wanted their relationship to last. Gordon thought about going after Bruce, to talk to him, but as he turned back towards the hospital room he knew he needed to be close to his son.

 

Bruce could take care of himself and when there was another free moment, they could find time to talk this over again. Well, perhaps more of Gordon reassuring Bruce that not all things were his fault, even though the billionaire thought otherwise. Alfred placed a hand on Gordon's shoulder and then began down the hall after Bruce.

 

“I'll see if I can't talk to him. You make sure you spend this time with your son,” Alfred said with a quick smile, before taking up a long stride, soon disappearing around the corner just as Bruce had moments ago. Gordon looked into his son's room, watching him coherently talk to the doctors, almost as if nothing had happened at all. Finally, the doctor moved away from the bed, leaving the two nurses to see to Jimmy and anything he might need.

 

The doctor walked to the door and joined Gordon in the hall. He looked down at the clipboard in his hand, not directly addressing Gordon, as he looked over the papers. Gordon kept his arms folded over his chest, patiently waiting for something to be said or a diagnosis given – anything. The doctor scribbled something down on the chart and finally looked up at Gordon, flashing a sincere (but completely fake) smile. Gordon looked at him expectantly, ready to tear his head off if he didn't start to get some fucking answers.

 

“Commissioner,” the doctor started, just as he had the last few days when he started any conversation with Gordon. “You're son is... doing great. Brain activity is normal, heart rate is great, all vitals are checking out fine. We'd like to keep him here for another day or two just to be sure, sometimes complications can arise unseen after a patient wakes from a coma. We really want to be sure everything is normal.”

 

Gordon raised an eyebrow at the word 'normal' and how casual and odd it felt to hear. It was as if this doctor thought that Jimmy would have come out of this traumatic event anything less than 'normal'. Gordon didn't like the accusations and assumptions that his son wouldn't have come out of this just as strong as he went into it. It was as if the doctors hadn't really had any hope for the teen. Luckily, Jimmy showed them.

 

“Normal,” Gordon said with a slight nod, showing his uneasy agreement and attempting to keep his calm.

 

“That's right,” the doctor said looking over his chart one more time. “We're also giving him a low dose of morphine for the pain, it's about the only thing he's complained about. Aside from that everything looks great. You can go see him now, if you like.” The doctor gave another one of those smiles that made Gordon want to punch him. Maybe it was just being at the hospital that was setting him on edge, or maybe just the stress.

 

“Thank you,” Gordon murmured as the doctor strolled past him, and Gordon entered the room. The nurses walked past and Gordon gave a nod thanks because stepping up to Jimmy's bedside. He looked down at his son, still beaten an almost beautiful shade of green, purple and red, mixing into a shade of gray. Jimmy was sitting up in the bed, arms stuck lifelessly at his side in tight casts. There was an intravenous drip going, but the tubes of air had been taken out as they were no longer afraid he'd suddenly stop breathing. Gordon squatted down, fingers gripping the rail on the side of the bed.

 

Jimmy looked down at him, a half grin on his face, almost as if an apology. “Hey, Dad.” Gordon returned the smile as wholeheartedly as he could, reaching up and softly caressing around the bruising on his son's face. He didn't want to think of what could have happened, that Jimmy could have very well died; he just wanted to relish in this moment where he knew his son was going to be just fine.

 

Gordon sniffed back a sob, too overwhelmed that he could hear Jimmy's voice again. He breathed a sigh and shook his head. “You have no idea how relieved I am.” Even more now, Jimmy's eyes looked sad and apologetic and Gordon shook his head harder, standing, spreading his hands out to calm his son, not wanting him to get the wrong impression. “No, no! I'm not blaming you. This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault. I'm just so... Happy you are okay.”

 

“But Dad –” Jimmy began to say but Gordon closed his eyes and shook his head one more time.

 

“Not right now. Let's just see you through this stay and then we'll talk about whatever happened. I want you to concentrate on healing, not on what happened. It can wait.” Gordon touched the few fingers that were sticking out of the cast on Jimmy's left hand and his son tried to his father's hand, although unsuccessfully. Gordon smiled at that, bringing a more relaxed grin from Jimmy.

 

Behind him the door opened and Jimmy tried his best to look around Gordon. Turning around, Gordon saw Babs standing in the door way, a huge grin on her face. She ran at the bed, stopping on the other side, and looking to be holding back the urge to crush her little brother in tight hug. Instead she place her hand gently on his arm, touching the curves of the cast. She sighed and looked at the naked white cast.

 

“I'm going to be the first to sign both of them,” she quipped lightly. She must have sensed the tension in the room, taking it on herself to lesson it. Gordon watched as Jimmy, for the first time in almost a year, smiled at his sister in a loving manner. Yes, his little family was going to be fine, despite what the doctors wanted to think.

 

But there was someone missing from this moment, and Gordon resisted the urge to text Bruce to join them. He figured the younger man needed his time time mull things over. Hopefully it was sooner rather than later.

 

 

\-----

 

“Master Wayne,” Alfred began as he entered the elevator down to the parking garage with Bruce Wayne. “Don't you think you need to be up there with Master Gordon?”

 

“Jim doesn't need me here right now. This is his time with his family,” Bruce said as he hit the P button on the control panel. He started to fiddle with the button on his suit jacket, aware of what Alfred was going to say next, so he would side-step it. “And I have a meeting to attend soon, I need to get to the office to go over some paperwork.”

 

Alfred glanced at his watch. “It's only four in the morning, sir. You're meeting with Mister Fox and Mister Luthor isn't for another four hours. I think you can spare a few hours –”

 

Bruce shot Alfred a glare, furrowing his eyebrows at him. What Bruce didn't say was that he didn't want to interfere with Gordon's family, that it wasn't his place to be there. Sure, the kids seemed to like him well enough, but hadn't he crossed a line somewhere when he was there all the time? “Jim needs the time with his kids. Family _is_ important, Alfred. He doesn't need me there.”

 

The elevator jolted to a stop, the doors slid open. Bruce stepped forward to leave when Alfred grabbed him by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “No, maybe not. But _you_ need him.” Bruce pulled away from Alfred's grip, shaking his head. He did need Jim Gordon, that was a fact he had come to realize, but he wasn't about to tromp around the time Gordon had with his kids during this harsh period. It was like that when Barbara Gordon died as well; Bruce had given Gordon his space and time to sort things out and get it together. Bruce knew that Gordon would need that time here, as well; just perhaps not as heavily.

 

“Tell Jim I'll call him when I get out of the meeting,” Bruce said as he threw a wave behind him to Alfred. He didn't bother to look back, afraid the disappointed look on Alfred's face alone would make him regret leaving. He didn't need that, not right now.

 

What Bruce really needed was time alone.

 

 

\----

 

By the time Bruce had calmed himself enough to actually feel that he could fall asleep the clock on his desk hit the eight forty-five mark and the alarm began to sound. Bruce reached over and hit the bar in the middle to turn it off. He leaned back in his chair, utterly exhausted. He had had time to think, time to go over everything he knew about the case and then what he knew he could do for the Gordon's. He felt so inadequate to what he could be, and there in lied the problem for Bruce. He wanted – no _needed_ – to be the person that was relied on; to be wanted and needed. So why did he feel as if he was just this person passing through the lives of Jim Gordon and family?

 

Bruce pushed away from the desk, checked himself at the mirror by the door, smoothing down his suit, and then leaving his office. He had gone straight to Wayne Enterprises after leaving Gotham General, not wanting to make another trip later that morning. Bruce rounded the corner, coming face-to-face with Lucius Fox, who was carrying a folder under one arm and a cup of coffee in the other. He gave Bruce a gradual smile along with a slight nod.

 

“Mornin' Mister Wayne,” the older man said smoothly. He looked Bruce over once. “Hard night at the office?”

 

Bruce smirked. “Something like that,” he responded casually. Lucius hadn't been told about Bruce and Gordon, but when Jimmy ended up in the hospital and Bruce told Lucius he wouldn't be in for a few days, the puzzle pieces must have fit together.

 

“How is the commissioner's son doin'?” Lucius asked as he and Bruce began to walk towards the meeting room. Bruce placed his hands in his pockets, strolling along at a leisurely pace with the man he appointed CEO of his company nearly six year ago. The smirk Bruce had on his face vanished, being brought back into the reality of why he was even having this meeting today.

 

“He woke earlier this morning,” Bruce replied, hiding the disappointment in his own voice for having not been there. He knew, though, that family needed family.

 

“Good, good. Glad to hear it,” Lucius commented lightly. “With everything the Gordon family has been through this past year I'm glad something started to look up for 'em.” He held the door open for Bruce, and the billionaire nodded as he walked past the older man and into room.

 

A familiar, and large, table sat in the middle of the well-lit room. The table was already surrounded by a few of Wayne Enterprises board members along with a few from LexCorp. Bruce walked past the group of people with an easy, practiced smile. He was so used to it by now, the playboyish charm he had to provide, the pretending not to care as much as he actually did.

 

It was what people expected of him.

 

Lucius tugged on Bruce's arm, motioning to the man now standing up his seat at the table. Bruce looked the broad man over. He was tall, bald, and utterly intimidating. Bruce let his smile change into a smirk as he shot his hand out to the other man casually.

 

“Mister Luthor, it's a pleasure,” Bruce said, shaking the man's hand as he took it. Luthor had a strong grip and an even stronger gaze that Bruce imagined could kill mice. There was something about this man, something that wasn't quite settling right in Bruce's stomach.

 

“Oh, the pleasure is of course, all mine, Mister Wayne,” Luthor said in return. Their hands slid away from each other, just staring at each other for long moments, until Bruce slid his hand back into his pocket.

 

“Please, call me Bruce,” he mused. Luthor quirked an eyebrow at him and simply nodded.

 

“Well, _Bruce_ , shall we get down to business then?” Luthor folded his arms over his chest and Bruce nodded, taking a seat across the table from him. God, it was going to be a long meeting, and just by sitting in the chair Bruce could feel himself starting to drift off.

 

He listened to the droning tone of Luthor going on about production at his LexCorp Labs plant, and how they're main goal is to research cures for cancer and and other fatal diseases that the human race had yet to figure out. This was one of the main reasons Bruce had finally decided on a merger, but he was still hoping in doing so he could work the mob out of the shadows and get some answers. Lure them out of their safe zones, maybe even find out who they're working with. If not, at least this merger was going for a good cause.

 

Unfortunately, Bruce didn't hear much more as he leaned his head back against the chair, thinking he could close his eyes for a few minutes... things turned into a misty black and after what felt like just a few second, someone had a hand on Bruce's shoulder and was shaking him. Bruce jolted awake and looked around to see that most of the board members were gone, and he was left with Luthor and Lucius. Usually when Bruce fell asleep at these meetings he was half awake, listening for bits a pieces, much like with Lau, but he had passed out cold this time.

 

He looked at Lucius and trusted the man got all the information they would need. “Sorry, Lucius,” he said in a gruff, sleep deprived tone.

 

The older man shook his head, and handed Bruce a pen. “Everything's drawn up and together. You just need to sign on the line and then LexCorp Labs will be free to move about the Biotech Lab.”

 

Bruce took the pen, hovering it over the line he needed to sign. “And everything was fine, the agreements on what we're researching, the experimenting... they agreed to our conditions and rules?” Fox nodded slowly. Bruce tilted his head to the side and signed his name on the line. He wished he hadn't fallen asleep, to be sure everything was as he wanted it, but he trusted Fox. That was good enough.

 

Lucius took the papers. “Very good, Mister Wayne. I'll have copies made and sent to your office later on.” Bruce nodded at the older man and watched him leave, catching up with two representatives Lex Luthor had brought with him. Bruce stood, smoothing down his pants and jacket of any wrinkles.

 

“One would think, _Bruce_ , that if you had any real interest in what your company is about to become involved with, that you'd find a way to at least stay awake during the meeting,” a boisterous voice said from behind Bruce. He turned around and saw the steely blue eyes of Luthor staring at him. Bruce pasted the best playboy smile he could muster on his face.

 

Bruce didn't say a word, just kept smiling. What was he going to say to defend himself if anything? At least it played well for his 'persona'.

 

Luthor narrowed his eyes on Bruce, suspiciously. “I realize that this isn't really your area of expertise and you'd rather not have to deal with it all, but it really doesn't settle well with my lawyers for you to seem so disinterested.”

 

Bruce smirked, shrugging. He could defend himself all he wanted, even prove Luthor wrong, but in the long run he'd only be proving to the man that he was as fake as they came. Luthor was smart, and Bruce didn't need him on his back, counting his every move and trying to figure out what it was he was hiding. It was easier to just play into the stupidity act, and move on.

 

Luthor let out a choked little laugh, sounding rather put off. “I'll have the reports of progress sent to Fox, then.” Luthor started to walk to the door. “Oh, and Bruce, thanks for the support. LexCorp couldn't do this without you.” It was a little too smug for Bruce's liking, and he started to see through the whole ordeal. His stomach knotted worse than it had earlier that morning; he had a feeling the the whole merging wasn't right, but he had nothing to back it up. Why was he suddenly feeling so regretful of his decisions? He trusted Lucius had done just as much research, if not more, as Bruce had regarding the project and LexCorp Labs – there should be nothing to worry about.

 

Nothing, but yet there had to be something or Bruce wouldn't be feeling this way. He'd have to look into it further, hopefully get Gordon's insight on it now that Jimmy was alert. That was, if everything continued to look up and not plunge back down. Bruce glanced at his watch. He really should go see how Jimmy was doing.


	10. Chapter 10

Jim Gordon glanced down at his watch for the twelfth time in one hour. It felt like maybe if he continued to look at the hands moving slowly across the glass face, maybe time would speed up. Of course, now he saw that the longer and more often he stared, the more slowly time seemed to pass. Jimmy had had another check up and was given another round of morphine, that inevitably put him in an ozone of his own, and soon had passed out. Gordon didn't really know how a kid who had been in a coma for three days could even be tired, but the doctors didn't seem too worried about it. Babs was curled up in a chair across the room with one of her new school books for the year; she claimed she wanted to get a head start.

 

And Alfred, well he had gone back to the penthouse to take care of some business. So it left Gordon with plenty of time to himself, watching his son breathe easy in the bed beside him, hearing the every now and then page turn from Babs' books, and his own thoughts that were set to betray him at any moment. Given things had slowed down a bit, everything was coming into a brighter perspective and it set him in an unease; mostly where Bruce Wayne was concerned. Days before they had been getting along so well, laughing it up and acting as if nothing in the world could tear them apart. It was almost silly to think that that could be true, because now Bruce was pulling away from him, sulking in his insecurities about being able to help everyone all the time.

 

It wasn't quite fair of the billionaire to take it upon himself to decide if he should blame himself or not. Gordon surely didn't blame Bruce for anything; they were both doing the best they could in their situation. And yet that bit of information wouldn't sink into the younger man, stubborn and always self blaming. Gordon couldn't even imagine what was going through his head now, how much he much blame himself for what happened to Jimmy and how it was aching at him, despite Gordon having told him otherwise.

 

What made Gordon ache was that Bruce was not there with him. The billionaire had become one of the family in the last few months, but the minute something happened – the second Gordon's small family needed to act like a _real_ family and be close-knit – Bruce ran. The younger man closed down emotionally and took off. And even though Alfred explained that Bruce does that from time-to-time, Gordon couldn't help but feel it that there might be something else.

 

Like the nightmares. The sleeplessness. Being out all night and up all day. Overly worried. There was a lot of things to add up to Bruce behavior and Gordon was sure that each one played a part as to why he left when Jimmy woke from the coma. It tore Gordon into two pieces when trying to figure out his place; did he stay wrapped up in his son's health and stay at the hospital or did he call Bruce, go to him and offer comfort? The obviously answer for any father would be to stay at his son's side. Bruce would be there when everything fell back into place, and Gordon would be there when Bruce was ready to talk.

 

A tap at the door brought Gordon's thoughts out of his blurry haze, rushing to the door to open it. He turned the knob and pulled the door opened, eyes meeting a pair of light hazel ones, searching the features of the man in front of him to be sure it was really him. Bruce Wayne. The younger man's eyes were bloodshot, dark circles under his eyes were darker and more shallow than ever, and he looked gaunt and pale, as if he hadn't really eaten in a while either. Gordon raised a hand, fingers tips brushing the side of the Bruce's jawline, tracing towards his hair where he moved a small strand out of the way.

 

The first thing Gordon wanted out of Bruce's mouth was not what Bruce actually said, and he felt a little disappointed. “How's Jimmy?” Bruce asked horsely, still standing in the hallway, door opened enough that he could have walked through if he wanted. Gordon continued to trace his fingers along the path of Bruce's face, behind his ear, down his neck... a familiar pattern he learned relaxed the other man.

 

“He's alright. Resting,” Gordon answered softly, the worry he would have had in his voice earlier that day now gone, knowing his son was going to be just fine. Bruce sighed, finally giving over to the gentle touch. Gordon took a step back, using his other hand to grab on the sleeve of Bruce's suit jacket, pulling him forward into the room. He pushed the door closed behind the younger man. “You look terrible.”

 

Bruce forced a small smile on his face, but it was weak and weary, and the man's eyes were drooping as each moment passed. “No worse than I actually feel, I'm sure.” Gordon frowned at that. He glanced to his right at Babs, who looked at up at him. Knowingly, she stood, closing her book.

 

“I'll go get us all some coffee,” she offered gently as she pushed past them, sliding out of the room quietly.

 

Gordon looked after her, out the window of the door, and waited until she had rounded the corner. He turned back to Bruce, head slightly tipped to the side. “You can't keep going on like this. You're going to get yourself killed with the way you're _not_ taking care of yourself.”

 

“I know,” Bruce replied in the same strangled, exhausted voice. He brought his hands to his face, running his fingers up through his hair, combing it back while letting out a soft sigh. Gordon thought for sure the younger man would say something else, elaborate a little on his thoughts and what he might do about it; but that seemed to be far from what was actually going through Bruce's mind. Nothing else was said.

 

“That's it? You aren't going to tell me you're going to try to get some sleep? That you're going to take the time to sort things out? Nothing?” Gordon new he was demanding, but someone had to be with Bruce, he was so used to getting thing his way and no one really caring one way or the other. Well that was going to end, because Gordon did care and Bruce was going to very well know it by the time he was done here.

 

“Jim...” Bruce sighed, again. Gordon shook his head slowly, taking his time and patience with Bruce for now. He took a step forward, forcing Bruce to take a step back, heel hitting the wall, back flat against it.

 

“Don't 'Jim' me,” Gordon warned, voice low. Bruce's head rolled back on his neck, hitting the wall with a small thud, his eyes clearly unfocused do to lack of sleep. Gordon took Bruce's face in both his hands and made the billionaire look at him. “The last thing I need is something to happen to you. This city is broken as it is right now, if you fall the city goes with you.”

 

“That's not true, the city would still have you,” Bruce muttered, eyes still on Gordon's, though completely without emotion. “You're the piece of Gotham that still remains hopeful. I'm just that bit of darkness that makes Gotham want to eat itself alive.”

 

Gordon shook his head, lowing his hands from Bruce's face and letting them drop to his side. “It's not just about Gotham,” Gordon whispered. “You think you're doing me a favor when you leave, allowing me time with my family, but really you're just pushing yourself further away from humanity, from the one thing that hasn't given up on you or left you. And really, Bruce, that's just selfish.” Bruce looked at him with slight confusion etched into his brow. “When I retired you came to me as Batman and you were so hurt that I didn't talk to you first. When you didn't help Barbara because you were afraid of what people would think or that I might find out your secret. When you left today because you thought it was the right thing to do, when you knew I needed you, because you couldn't handle it. Selfish.”

 

Bruce visibly swallowed, the sound almost louder than their own breathing in the quiet of the room. Gordon knew he struck a chord, something that would dig deep into the billionaire's veins and nest their for a while. Gordon's intentions were not to make the man more broody or confused, but to enlighten him.

 

“That was never my intent,” Bruce whispered, and he opened his mouth to say more, but Gordon's lips were there before he could continue, quieting the younger man into submissive pile against the wall.

 

Gordon spoke carefully against Bruce's lips. “I know,” he whispered, gazing into Bruce's heavy-lidded eyes. He pressed his body into the younger man's, hands touching Bruce's hips, feeling the tension finally melt off of him. “Just promise me when I need you, especially with my family, that you'll be there? The rest we can work on as we go along.”

 

Bruce tipped his head a little, making sure their lips more than brushed with each word, allowing Gordon to seize control of him. “Promise.”

 

 

\----

 

The three of them sat in the few chairs the hospital room allowed, talking for hours and avoiding the subject of Jimmy until he was awake. They didn't want him to wake and hear them talking about him, and then him assume something worse than it was. If they talked about anything to do with Jimmy it would have been what happened and what each of them really thought about it. They didn't want to start rumors within their own family just yet, or at all.

 

Babs was going on about the classes she was going to take, including the list of physical education classes, which took up a good fourth of her list. She had beginning karate, swimming, and weight training. He wasn't sure when she would have time for the other classes she had signed up for, but if anyone could pull it off, it was Babs.

 

“Why the sudden interest in physical activities?” Gordon asked as he handed her back the schedule. Babs had always been down for the morning jobs they did during his short-lived retirement, but outside of that she never showed much of an interest.

 

Babs slid the paper neatly back into binder, and tightly closed it, so nothing would get loose. “Well,” she started, spreading her hands over the smooth front of the binder, eyes trailing up to meet her father's. “With everything that's been happening in Gotham, mainly our neighborhood, I wanted to be sure that I could defend myself if I needed to.”

 

Bruce was poised in the chair by the window, elbow perched on the arm and his fingers gently cradling his chin. He had started to stare out the window a few minutes ago, Gordon tried not to pay much attention to the attitude he was giving off, even after their talk. He couldn't quite blame him, all circumstances aside. Bruce's eyes flickered something dark, something uneasy but Gordon didn't say anything about it. The billionaire looked over at Babs, eyes narrowed on her slightly.

 

“That's not something you should be worrying about,” he said calmly, voice slow and even. He sounded more alert now than he had just an hour ago when he arrived, but yet the somberness around him lingered. Gordon turned his head a bit more to look at Bruce more pointedly, as did Babs but she had more of a concerned and annoyed look worked into her face. “You should be focused on your studies, not being worried about _might_ happen.”

 

“How do you expect me not to worry?” Babs asked, offended. She had placed her binder down on the small table to her left, sitting straighter in her chair. “Jimmy could have died! You were out of commission for almost two weeks not too long ago and these 'super men' keep showing up all over the street no matter how many get taken in. I don't want to sit around and 'hope' that one of them won't decide to attempt with me what they did with Jimmy.”

 

“Even if you did take martial arts classes and even if you could beat a couple common thugs into the dirt,” Bruce said, turning to face her fully and the gaze he had was icy and cool and not even Gordon wanted to in the line of that. “You still wouldn't be any match for one of these 'super men' as you're calling them. You're just going to get yourself killed even thinking like that.”

 

Babs opened her mouth to speak but she clamped it back shut quickly, her lips a small thin line. She obviously had had other plans, some sort of schemes that Bruce shot down in less than thirty seconds of her speaking about it. Gordon frowned slightly at the interaction between the two, the once mutual friendship seemed to have dwindle in those precious seconds. Bruce was right, of course, but Gordon couldn't help but feel as if he was keeping Babs from something she really wanted. Working out and taking classes wasn't going to hurt anything, right? Gordon found nothing wrong with people want to self-improve.

 

“Bruce, she isn't saying she wants to go out and do what you do. She just wants to be prepared. The police department supports all women and teens taking safety awareness and self-defense classes. I don't see the harm.” He might have been digging himself a hole with the billionaire, but Bruce didn't argue it. He gave Babs a side way nod and folded his hands in his lap, turning his gaze out the window again.

 

Gordon shrugged at his daughter and she mouthed an obviously relieved “thank you” along with a slight eye-roll towards Bruce. Babs stood, hugged her father and walked to the bathroom. Gordon reached over and tugged on Bruce's sleeve sharply. Bruce turned his face to Gordon, worry and failure clearly set in his eyes. Gordon sighed.

 

“I can't keep her sheltered forever. She's an adult and can make her own decisions, no matter how much I want to just keep her locked in this little shelter... I know it won't work forever. She has to figure all of this out for herself.” Gordon watched carefully as Bruce nodded, but the remnants of his last feelings were still evading his eyes and body language.

 

“I just don't want her getting the wrong ideas,” Bruce explained softly. “She's so young...”

 

“We were all young once, Bruce. We all made mistakes and learned from them. She's going to have to do the same.” Gordon sighed and let out a small snort, shaking his head almost unbelievably at Bruce. “It's just a karate class. How much trouble is she really going to get into?” It was rhetorical, but Bruce had his mouth opened and ready to talk when they heard Jimmy say something from behind them.

 

Gordon stood, Bruce close behind, and rushed to the teen's bedside. Babs came out of the bathroom, slowly closing the door behind her as a smile crossed her face. She stood on the other side of the bed as Bruce took the end of the bed, not meeting Jimmy's gaze. Gordon could feel that Bruce was still feeling guilty for what happened to his son. Jimmy smiled at his Dad.

 

“How are you feeling son?” Gordon asked, gently touching Jimmy's arm cast.

 

“I'm fine, Dad,” the boy said softly. He was looking at Bruce again. “I think I need to tell you what happened that night...”

 


	11. Chapter 11

What Jim Gordon expected his son to tell them, he didn't really know. Perhaps it would be how he was riding through the park to get home and the thug ran after him and pushed him off the bike and beat him. Or maybe it would be how he was minding his own business, taking his time getting home and the thug asked for the bike and Jimmy ran, but was chased. Yet, as he looked his son over a few times, their eyes not once meeting as Jimmy was too busy looking at Bruce with some shame in his eyes, he knew that neither likely story was going to be what came out of Jimmy's mouth. Bruce was looking at the teen, not an expression to be had except that he was definitely waiting for what Jimmy had to say.

 

Jimmy looked over at Babs first. “Bruce is right. No matter what you did to train, you wouldn't have chance.” Babs frowned at that, her eyebrows digging deeply towards her lids, confused. Jimmy sighed. “I wasn't just passing by that guy. I knew he was doped up on those drugs everyone is talking about in the news. I thought could stop him. Be of help.”

 

Gordon shook his head, disbelieving. “Detective Montoya told me that man said he asked for you're bike and you refused. That was the reason this happened.” Gordon gestured at all his son's wounds and bruises, scars he'd have for years. Gordon didn't want to think that maybe, just maybe, his son initiated the beating by stepping up where he shouldn't have.

 

If Jimmy could have moved, shifted his weight to not see the begging look in his father's eyes, Gordon was sure he would have. The teen dropped his eyes to the blankets at his feet, not meeting any of the glares he was receiving around him. “When I approached him he did ask for the bike. I told him no and that's when...” He didn't need to finish that, everyone there knew enough already to know what happened.

 

The silence of the room was so sudden, the soft beeps of the machine monitoring Jimmy and the heavy sigh that reached Gordon's ears, realizing it was Babs he was hearing. He looked up and Babs was running a hand carefully through Jimmy's sandy blond hair. No one said anything, though, the shock was too much for Gordon and Bruce looked about ready to crawl out of his skin. If Gordon thought that Bruce had thought he was to blame before, he was sure the billionaire was blaming himself more now. Bruce liked to think he inspired people to do what was right, but this...

 

And just as Gordon thought, Bruce turned his back on all of them and walked out of the room. Babs and Jimmy would have no idea why this bothered Bruce so much, they never got to see the side of Bruce that was this serious. Hell they rarely saw the Batman side of Bruce at all, except on the rare occasion that an emergency arrived, which was rare since they found out, and had so far happened once.

 

“Dad, is Bruce...” Jimmy asked, his eyes still on the door where it had shut behind Bruce, watching intensely as if wishing he would come back. Gordon shook his head.

 

“It's not you, son. It's, uh...” Gordon couldn't really explain the situation, not without feeling he was giving away too much of Bruce's personal battles to two kids that didn't really need to know. “Trust me, it's definitely not you.” Gordon gave Jimmy a bland smile, sighing and placing his hands on his hips.

 

“I'm really sorry,” Jimmy said, this time his gaze lingered over to Gordon's, the worried etched into blue eyes and Gordon allowed himself to smile a little more sincerely.

 

“Don't be. We all make foolish mistakes. And just as I told Bruce, we all learn from them,” Gordon said. He scrapped his bottom teeth against his upper lip, thinking. “Feel like eating?”

 

Jimmy's face twisted up into a horrible grimace. “Not more hospital food, Dad. If anything is gonna kill me, it's that.”

 

Gordon snorted. “Wouldn't think of it. Babs you'll be okay staying here with your brother? I'm going to run down the street and pick up some food from that diner on the corner.” Babs nodded her head slowly, and Gordon gave his son's greasy hair a quick run-through with his fingers. “See you two in a bit.”

 

 

\-----

 

Gordon rounded the corner of the hallway towards the elevator, keeping a steady pace and listening for the soft patter of his won shoes hitting the laminate floor. He reached the metal doors of the elevator, pushing the button to go down. He listened for the familiar dinging as the floor numbers lit above the doors, and then he saw the dark figure behind him in the reflective metal. He turned his body only half way to catch a glimpse, already knowing who it was. The doors slid open and he walked in, turning to face Bruce as the younger man joined him.

 

“I realize you're disappointed in Jimmy for what he did, but you can't just walk out on him like that. He thinks he did something wrong,” Gordon said in a monotone voice, clasping his hands together in front of him. Bruce took up a stance next to him, not as close as Gordon preferred, as if Bruce was distancing himself.

 

“He did do something wrong, Jim,” Bruce said roughly through almost gritted teeth. Gordon turned his head, shooting Bruce one of those confused glances. “This was exactly what I was talking about with Babs. It's dangerous. Your children are reckless and they need to know that there are limits.”

 

Gordon blinked at Bruce a few times; he couldn't believe he was actually hearing these words roll out of Bruce's mouth. Yes, Gordon believed that his children needed to know there were limitations to what they were capable of doing, but Gordon wasn't for crushing their dreams or hopes that they could help Gotham the way Gordon and Bruce were. They just needed the right kind of guidance, and it was pretty damn obvious they weren't going to be getting it from Bruce. Even as Gordon glared at him through the thick lenses of his glasses, Bruce didn't move or even glance back at him, firm in what he said.

 

“There are limits for everyone. None of us are super humans who can stop these people. The more we push back the more they're going to keep pumping newer and stronger men full of that crap. You don't have a chance, Bruce,” Gordon said, turning his body to fully face the billionaire as he felt an anger well up inside him. “Maybe Jimmy wasn't too smart to think he could take that man down and maybe Babs is a little too hopeful that she could make a difference and take one of them on as well. But at least they have their heart into it. Which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for you.”

 

Bruce finally turned to face Gordon, but by the time their eyes had met it was only a few seconds worth before the doors opened. Gordon took the moment of shock on Bruce's face to walk out of the elevator and leave the man to his thoughts. Or so he had hoped to do. Bruce walked out right after him. Gordon took up a quick stride, bursting through the door of the hospital that lead out to the front. He could walk to that diner, it wasn't too far. Behind he him he heard the quickened steps of Bruce.

 

“Jim,” Bruce said from behind him, closer than Gordon had actually though the was. Gordon kept walking, he didn't want to deal with anymore of Bruce's spoiled brat, brooding attitude, not right now. “Jim, please, stop.”

 

Gordon finally turned around, half way down the street and away from the hospital. Bruce stopped just feet from him, hands in his pockets and a very beaten look on his face. “What, Bruce? What more can I say today that will make you change you're mind that not everyone or everything in this city is hopeless? That no one is trying to taking anything from you? How else can I convince you to lighten up just a little?”

 

Bruce glanced down at the sidewalk and took a deep breath. “I'm just not used to all of this,” Bruce admitted. “I've always been alone, been left behind. I don't know how to have a family. I can relate in terms with your children, sometimes, but I don't always know the right things to say or how to react to something that one of them does.” Bruce looked back up at Gordon, who moved the few feet between them and placed his hands on either side of Bruce's arms.

 

 _How many times are you going to give into this kid_ , Gordon thought. The answer was simply not possible, because there were bound to be many cases he would have to reassure Bruce and comfort him. The man was strong on the outside, but really he was just a frightened nine year old boy who witnessed his parents being shot to death. Traumatized was the least of describing words that Gordon could think of. Maybe he felt he had to shelter everyone else so they didn't go through the same thing as he did. That was the reason for Batman, after all.

 

“Babs and Jimmy like you. You aren't expected to be their second father. If anything you're probably more like the fun uncle they never had,” Gordon explained, forcing a small smile. “Except for right now when you're being a completely unreasonable douche bag.”

 

Bruce narrowed his eyes on Gordon just before he let go of the billionaire's arms, turning back towards the direction he was headed. “I'm not a douche bag, “ Bruce commented as he walked next to Gordon, bumping into is shoulder playfully. Gordon glanced over at him through the outside of his eyes; so weird how Bruce could change moods so quickly, and yet very explainable at the same time. Bruce was always having to put up a persona, and maybe bits and pieces of that had allowed him to quickly mood swing from one extreme to the other. That or it was all a mask, the playfulness just hiding the deep sorrow. There wasn't much point in pushing it right now.

 

Gordon reached out to the Bruce's fingers that dangled dangerously close to his, and grasped them tightly. Slowly, Bruce twined their fingers together, pulling Gordon closer to him. They walked for a few long minutes, down the brightly lit street, hand-in-hand. Finally Bruce spoke through the deadly silence that had crowded around them.

 

“I'll apologize to both of them when we get back. But, I'm very firm on what I said, about it being too dangerous,” Bruce said just loud enough so Gordon could hear him. Gordon smiled, weakly and squeezed Bruce's hand in gratitude.

 

“I know, and I agree. It is dangerous. But I don't think you'll have to worry about Jimmy. And Babs... she's just hard headed like her father. She'll get half-way through the karate class and figure out it's not for her,” Gordon assured the younger man. Bruce openly sighed, hanging his head a bit.

 

“I just wish... I wish there were some easy way to take these drugged up lunatics down. It would take a swarm of men to take down even man. I don't even want to know what would happen if I crossed two or more of these men. It's a death trap.” They stopped at the edge of the diner, letting go of each other's hands and facing each other for a moment.

 

“A swarm...” Gordon said gently, thinking. “Just like the man who was found tied to a flag pole the other day, claiming he was put there by a group of motorcyclists.” Gordon paused for a minute and almost laughed out loud even at his own thoughts. “I guess getting a band of crime-fighters together is out of the question?”

 

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Oh yes, Jim. Let me put an ad up on Craigslist, 'Looking for Band of Crime-Fighters!'. I don't see that working.”

 

Gordon shrugged. “Well then I guess we're gonna have to do the not-so-hands-on approach and attempt to shut down whoever is producing this drug for the Mob.” Gordon walked up to the front of the diner and pushed the door open, allow Bruce to enter before him.

 

“Well,” Bruce said as he turned around to meet Gordon's gaze once more as they waited for a waitress. “I'm working on that. Remember that merger I was telling you about with LexCorp Labs and Wayne Biotech?”

 

“Yeah... but Bruce I don't trust LexCorp. Luthor has been accused countless time of crimes –” Gordon started to say but Bruce stopped him.

 

“He was cleared of all of those. False accusations,” Bruce explained, but there was something in his eyes that suggested he, too, were more than aware of Luthor's background and might have been a bit uneasy about it as well. “Besides, the merger was done this morning.”

 

Gordon raised his eyebrows. “Well, let's hope the idea of drawing out the company helping the mob works. I'd hate to see this was all for nothing.” The waitress came around the counter and they order a few items to go, waited five minutes, conversing in idle chit-chat with the woman and then left.

 

Bruce was holding a brown bag in one hand and Gordon hold of another, but they left their two hands closest to each other free, to twine their fingers together once more. It was nice to be on a quiet street, not a lot of traffic at night, and not have to worry about whether someone was making a remark behind their back or not. Gordon knew Bruce could care less, but Gordon had a reputation and it was always going to get in the way of what was going on between them. At least they had that moment.

 

Half way way back they heard a loud roar of engines coming down the street from in front of them. Before they had a chance to think twice, to get a better look if possible, a hoard of motorcycles zoomed past them, mostly speed bikes from what Gordon could see. Bruce turned his head to watched as they disappeared down the street and around the corner.

 

“Blue and black,” he said quietly, and Gordon raised one eyebrow at him. “That biker gang that tied the man to the pole a few days ago, they wore blue and black didn't they?”

 

“That's what the police reports states, yes,” Gordon replied. Bruce gestured to the gang that was long gone now, only the distant sound of their engines in the night could be heard, and even that was almost inaudible now.

 

“Blue and black,” Bruce repeated.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Two days had passed and Bruce wasn't at all surprised when the hospital let Jimmy go home. There was nothing more they could do for him but give him a prescription for some painkillers and tell him to return in a few weeks so they could check on the healing of the bones in his arms. A part of Bruce really wanted to feel bad for the kid, but the other part of him knew that Jimmy deserved what happened; sometimes people had to learn from their mistakes in order for the lesson to sink in. Bruce felt worse about the fact that it took Jimmy nearly being beaten to death for the point to be made and the lesson learned. He also knew now that the boy wouldn't be trying anything else – or that was the hope, at least.

 

And Babs, well Babs was another story completely. The girl was once the little birdie in her father's ear that kept pushing him along to see the better side of Bruce before they had officially started being “an item”. Now, it seemed, Babs was more of the daughter to both of them rather than Bruce's buddy, and really he didn't like that. Babs was becoming more reckless with her thoughts and ideas, delusions, really, of what was right and what was wrong. Children had no idea what Gotham really was – a hell hole of misfortune and murder, drowning in the dark pool of fear and violence that the maddened citizens Gotham herself created.

 

Except, Babs was not a child. She was an adult and Bruce knew he should treat as one. That was the hardest part; believing in the next generation to do the right thing, to pull things forward and leave off where he and Gordon had left it. But that wasn't going to be Babs, she was better than that, smarter and more aware – she could do more than what Bruce himself had set out to become when he was just a few years older than she was now. She would never be strong enough to take down what her father and him were up against. Which was another matter in itself. It meant Bruce had to push harder, work harder, and be better – he had to get down to the source of this strength drug and put a stop to it, even if he had to die doing it. If it meant a better wellbeing for Gotham as a whole, he would make that sacrifice.

 

Understandably, he couldn't mention that to Jim Gordon. Bruce went into the relationship knowing full well that at any given time – any given moment – things could change and one of them could die. They lived lives that weren't exactly the safest, and it was bound to happen at some point. Bruce preferred if it happened to him, and if push came to shove, he'd take that bullet for Gordon. But if he told the older man his plans, how things would work if it did come to that, Gordon would merely tell him to stop being over dramatic and if anything were to happen, it would to him and not Batman, because Gotham needed Batman.

 

That wasn't true, at least to Bruce. Gotham didn't need Batman; Gotham needed the idea of Batman. Despite Batman's supposed fall from grace, people still looked up to him; many suspected he hadn't ever killed anyone at all and the Police Department just wanted someone to blame. Batman was still the hero everyone needed, according to Gordon, but Bruce just didn't see it anymore. He was a figment to most, an idea that invades the darkness in the middle of the night and cleans up the street, only to have three more just like that one shoved into jail back out into belly of Gotham.

 

Bruce was sure that Batman even being around these days was more of a death wish for everyone else. The more he was around the more criminals would fight back. But if he did stop, if he left the crime fighting to better men like Gordon, would that make it any less worse? No, probably not. But if the day did come where it was Gotham or him, he'd gladly make that sacrifice.

 

But he was not going to allow the Gordon's children to be brought down with him.

 

As Bruce watched Gordon and Babs help Jimmy into his room, setting up a television in there for him, Bruce couldn't help but feel as if this was just the beginning of something worse. A slight pang in his heart, the beat quickening for a split-second, palms aching – he knew that the worst had yet to come. The question now was when?

 

When Jimmy was finally comfortable, Bruce left the room. A few days prior he had apologized to the teen for getting upset at his actions. Bruce had told Gordon that he wasn't mad at the boy, but the truth was he was more disappointed than anything else. Bruce took for granted the fact that both of Jim Gordon's children knew that he was Batman, and in that he figured they were smart enough to not take it upon themselves to be the hero. Especially when they found out the hard way – Bruce lying bleeding and broken on their father's bed. Despite all of that, they still didn't seem to sense the danger and just how much Bruce gave up of his own life to make lives like theirs better.

 

And they just kept throwing it away. If Bruce was mad or angry about anything, it was the ignorance Babs and Jimmy showed him towards Batman. Bruce let it slide, let it all just wash down the gutter for now until he had more time to explain to Gordon his exact thought on what the older man's children were trying to do. But, Gordon, too, was being just the slightest bit ignorant himself. Bruce found it better, for now, to keep all of his worries to himself and let the Gordon family live in their delusion a while longer.

 

Bruce walked down the hall way towards the kitchen, leaning his palms against the counter top, he stared out the back door. How much more would he give until he broke, and how much more until the end was inevitable? How much longer until he stopped worrying? How much...

 

“Things aren't the same,” came Gordon's voice from behind him. Bruce didn't turn around to look at him, he knew the look well by now, after years of secret meetings. It was stern but worried, cool blue eyes assessing Bruce's every move, every twitch of muscle and hair out of place. “You aren't the same.”

 

Bruce pressed his lips together, teeth scraping his top lip as he briefly closed his eyes. Some how he knew that at some point this would come up. He knew that over the last week he had become increasingly distant and dark, folding in on himself and hiding away from everyone else. Defense? Maybe, something he had learned long ago with past relationships, but this wasn't about Gordon, this was about Gotham. About what he does to people, specifically Babs and Jimmy.

 

After a few long, heart pounding moments, Bruce turned around, leaning on his hands as he placed them back on the counter, palms down. He tried to relax, tried to keep everything as nonchalant as possible. Everything was fine and as long as he kept telling Gordon that, then maybe the older man would believe him. But with the look on Gordon's face, he knew it was a little more than that. Gordon slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out what looked to be a business card. Bruce's first reaction was that it was something silly, or maybe Gordon had gotten new cards, but as the commissioner flipped the card over Bruce saw the familiar paw prints and purple, script lettering. Selina Kyle's card, the one she had given him a few nights ago when he was out patrolling. Bruce had completely forgotten he had slid the card into his suit jacket, which he had left with Gordon on more than a couple occasions in the past few days.

 

Gordon took a few steps towards Bruce, placing the card down on the counter next to his fingers. Bruce didn't even look at it, didn't want to seem guilty, even though he knew he was innocent beyond a doubt. Instead, he kept his gaze stern and unmoving on Gordon, who was not looking back at him in that accusing manner he often did with most criminals he apprehended.

 

“Nothing to say for yourself?” Gordon asked, stepping back away from Bruce, but Bruce didn't let him get far before he grabbed Gordon by the wrist and pulled him back towards him.

 

“I have nothing to say because there is nothing to tell, Jim. A chance meeting the other night when I was out patrolling. She offered some information if I needed it and gave me her card,” Bruce explained, tone as soft as he could manage. Gordon pulled his wrist away, annoyed. He didn't look ready to believe much of anything Bruce had to say.

 

“You expect me to believe that your ex-girlfriend had information on the drug case and just happened to run into you?” Gordon asked, his eyes searching Bruce's. Bruce nodded slowly.

 

“Absolutely,” Bruce said, no waver to his voice, only confidence. There was a long pause, a moment where they just looked into each others' eyes and then Bruce broke the silence; “I have everything I need right here. Why would I go looking somewhere else for something less satisfying?” And that seemed to break whatever ice block Gordon had riding up his ass. The older man shook his head, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, twitching his mustache.

 

Bruce reached out with his finger tips and traced the coarse, unshaved contours of Gordon's face. He bent his head slightly to the other man's height and kissed him gently. Nothing too bold, nothing too apologetic that could be used against him, just a soft, affectionate kiss that showed Jim Gordon exactly how Bruce Wayne sincerely felt. A few lasting seconds, a few breaths shared, and they parted.

 

“This still doesn't explain why your ex-girlfriend is hunting you down,” Gordon said in a semi-serious tone. Bruce pushed a stray hair behind Gordon's ear and then placed his hands firmly on the man's shoulders.

 

“I can't explain what I don't have answers to. I didn't have a long conversation with her. She stopped her attempts to get what she wanted from me when I mentioned you. I refused the information she had to offer because what she wanted in return I wasn't likely going to be able to give.” Bruce watched for the light in Gordon's eyes, to know that he he understood. There was a small flicker there, which was better than nothing at all.

 

Gordon squinted at him, a look that was usually followed up by some form of teasing, mostly badly done. “Do you always tell everyone you're in a serious relationship with that you're Batman?”

 

“No,” Bruce said, as if he felt he needed to defend himself. “Selina happened to find out on her own.” Gordon nodded and looked down at the business card on the counter. Bruce looked down at it as well and then back to Gordon.

 

“ _Kitty Cat Lounge_?” Gordon questioned, his eyes finally meeting Bruce's, but there was an understanding there this time. “Why do I get the feeling there is more to Selina Kyle then you're telling me?”

 

Bruce merely shrugged.

 

\-----

 

“Master Wayne?” came a proper voice from beside Bruce, and when he looked he couldn't quite see where the voice was actually coming from. Everything was such a blur, dark and foggy. He reached out to feel in front of him and only found nothing, falling to his knees instead. Bruce balanced himself on his knees, feeling around with his hands on the cool flooring under him for... something? “Master Wayne...” the voice again. Bruce squinted his eyes to see, maybe he just hadn't adjusted to the darkness of the room. It was darkness right? He wasn't even sure where he was.

 

He crawled forward a few paces, and then a few more. He reached out with his hand again, this time to see if a wall was near by, but instead of hitting anything solid his hand dropped down quickly and he suddenly felt the rest of his body falling with it as his back twisted behind him and a rush of wind around him, whistling past his ears. And just as he was sure he was going to fall to his certain doom he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, shaking him.

 

“Master Wayne,” came the same proper voice, again. Bruce's eyes shot open and he inhaled a breath, lungs feeling as though he had been holding his breath or not breathing at all, aching. His eyes focused on a brightly lit room, his bedroom at the Penthouse. Alfred was standing over him, hand on still on Bruce's shoulder, worriedly.

 

“Alfred,” Bruce managed to mumble. He went to sit up, realizing he still had not pieces of the armor to the Batsuit. He looked down at his bare hands, gauntlets and gloves gone and boots kicked off towards the wall. How he managed to fall asleep like this, he'd never know. Actually, he couldn't even remember getting home last night, let alone going out at Batman at all.

 

“I received a call from Master Gordon this morning at the Manor. He seemed rather worried about you.” Alfred helped Bruce to his feet, gently removing the other pieces of armor as Bruce allowed him to do so.

 

“Worried?” Bruce questioned, tearing off a bicep piece and tossing it to the bed. Alfred lifted Bruce's leg and slid a thigh piece off, looking up at him briefly.

 

“I take your three day absences as nothing more than your time to think things through. Quite use to it, really. But Master Gordon is fairly new to this, you see, and I think it might be best if you let him know next time you decide to disappear for three days.”

 

Bruce blinked, hand resting on his other armored bicep piece, mouth slightly agape, and eyebrows furrowing in. “Three days? Alfred The last thing I remember was working late at Wayne Enterprises... doing some research. Then I woke up here.”

 

Alfred raised an eyebrow at him warily. “I dare say if you had been sleeping this whole time you ought look a trifle better than you do,” Alfred quipped, pulling off the last bit of armor. Bruce stood before the older gentleman in the mesh body suit, confused. He walked passed Alfred and to the bathroom, looking himself over in the mirror. If he thought his eyes were gaunt and dark before, they were ten times worse now, as if sleep had never even been accounted for, as if he hadn't been asleep more than two hours before Alfred woke him. His skin was bruised around the jaw and neck and when he pulled the mesh bodysuit off he saw more patterns of bruising around his midsection and thighs.

 

The butler came in behind him, eyes assessing the younger man's body, shaking his head. “You don't remember a single one of those?”

 

Bruce shook his head, leaning his palms onto the counter top. “No,” he replied, looking up into the mirror at the man behind him. “Alfred, what if I've been sleeping walking? Sleep deprivation can do that in extremely stressful situations.”

 

After one final assessing gaze, Alfred looked Bruce in the eye pointedly.“If that is the case, the next question, sir, would be: what _have_ you been doing?”


	13. Chapter 13

Jim Gordon hadn't let the thought that something awful might have happened to Bruce cross his mind. There was the possibility of incident, but had it really been the case there would have been evidence – a body, torn clothing, something – left to be found. The worry, however, that Gordon felt was uncontrollable, a wrenching in his stomach tightened into deep knots. Alfred had told him not to worry, which only made the tightness in his chest worse.

 

He looked down at his cell phone; a blank screen and picture of Babs and Jimmy as the wallpaper. He'd left at least a dozen messages for Bruce over the past three days, but when the phone stopped ringing when he called, he knew the battery either died on the billionaire's end or Bruce had turned it off. Gordon hadn't let the thought that Bruce would be avoiding him and not returning his call deliberately get to him. He checked the phone one last time before setting it down on his desk.

 

“I hear staring at it for long periods of time won't make the person call you,” came a suave voice from beside him. Gordon looked up at his now opened office door at the tall, a broad figure standing there with his shoulder against the frame. Bruce smiled smugly at him, a slight raise to his eyebrows. Like someone untying a shoelace, the knots in Gordon's stomach started to unwind, only to be replaced with a sudden rise of heat that started in chest and shot up through his head. He didn't know if he wanted to punch Bruce Wayne in the jaw or hold him so tightly that neither of them would be able to breathe.

 

“Yeah, that's what I hear,” Gordon replied as he pushed away from his desk, standing. He let his fingers drag across the top of his desk as he rounded it, standing a few feet from Bruce. Every thought he had just had about punching him was gone as he saw the purpling bruise someone else had already landed on the billionaire's jawline.

 

Bruce had his arms crossed, still leaning into the frame of the door. “I don't have a viable excuse. I don't want to make up some story just to make us both feel better about three days of lost contact and worry.”

 

“Then don't,” Gordon said. “I find the truth always works well.” Gordon sat down on the edge of his desk, arms folded over his chest as he watched Bruce, trying to get an idea of what it was that was really going on.

 

“What if the truth only makes the worry worse?” Bruce asked, almost too casually. Gordon held back the sigh that threatened to heave against his chest.

 

“I'd rather a little worry than to believe some made up bullshit,” he replied confidently. Sometimes with Bruce it felt like he was talking to one of his kids, having to reassure them of the right decision or guide them down the right path. Bruce was smarter than that – he knew the right things to do, but he seemed to be very cautious around Gordon lately, and the commissioner couldn't help but wonder.

 

Bruce shifted his stance, pushing his shoulder against the frame and into a straight, standing position. The clean-pressed suit he was wearing was wrinkled at the legs, slightly untucked at the waistband, the knot in the tie crooked – as if he had been in a hurry. Gordon motioned the younger man over with his hand, and Bruce complied, taking the few long steps between them. Gordon kept his seat on his desk, taking hold of Bruce's hand and pulled him just a few feet closer, until Bruce's legs rested between Gordon's parted thighs.

 

Gordon reached up and straightened Bruce's tie first, fingers quick and deliberate. He then slid his hands down to the waistband of Bruce's slacks, tucking in the ends of the button down shirt a little tighter. Gordon let his hands rest on Bruce's hips, his gaze gliding up Bruce's torso until their eyes met. So much confusion was clear in the way Bruce was looking at him, as if he really wasn't sure how to continue the conversation. _It can't be that bad_ , Gordon thought. Three days gone, he imagined that maybe Bruce had been on a business trip unexpectedly, couldn't tell anyone, left his phone at the office... No, he had to have a real explanation.

 

“Vacation?” Gordon asked; Bruce shook his head. “Okay, business trip?” Another shake of his head. “Unexpected vigilante business?” That one made Bruce roll his eyes. “I'm horrible at guessing games. Why don't you just tell me?”

 

“Because... _I_ don't even know where I was,” Bruce said quietly, a heavy sigh following. Gordon began to shake his head, holding Bruce's, now very lost, gaze.

 

“I'm sorry; what?” A million different ideas came to mind: being drugged, getting kidnapped, carjacked... but none of them really added up or held a candle to what Bruce actually said.

 

“I don't remember where I've been. I woke not more than thirty minutes ago at the penthouse dressed in the Batsuit,” Bruce explained. “But look at me, Jim! I obviously haven't slept, I feel more exhausted than ever and I have, “ Bruce ran his hands down his chest and sides, gesturing; “all this bruising. Everywhere. And I can't remember anything of the last three days.”

 

Gordon felt his fingers tighten around Bruce's hips, dragging them a little closer to him, protectively. “Nothing?”

 

Bruce shook his head.

 

“Where were you last? That you remember?” Gordon asked, pushing Bruce back a little as he slid of his desk, now standing nearly face-to-face with the younger man.

 

“My office, at Wayne Enterprises.”

 

“What was the last thing you did, that you remember clearly?” Gordon placed his hands on Bruce's shoulder gently. Bruce went silent for a moment, lips slightly parted and his eyes moved from side-to-side, thinking.

 

“I think I took a few of the Vicodin,” Bruce finally answered. Gordon placed on hand on Bruce's cheek, pulling his gaze back to his.

 

“You don't take painkillers, Bruce,” Gordon stated, shaking his head. The only time Gordon had seen Bruce take anything was when he had been beaten to a bloody mess, and even that took some convincing.

 

Bruce gritted his teeth, bringing his hand up to his face and wrapping his fingers around Gordon's hand, pulling it away. “And I can't remember the reason I took them now.” Bruce held tightly to Gordon's hand, as if afraid to let go.

 

“Maybe it's time you saw a doctor...” Gordon began to say, but drifted when he realized just who he was talking to here, and glare he received made him backtrack. “Maybe you need some _real_ rest. Take a few days and actually sleep. Everything that's been going on has obviously gotten to you and you aren't doing anyone any good in the state you're in. You just lost three days of time and you have no idea where you were or had been doing! And in 'the suit', no less.”

 

Bruce was nodding his just slightly, but his gaze wasn't focused on Gordon anymore. “You're right,” he agreed, letting go of Gordon's hand and stepping backwards towards the door. “I'm... I'm going to go do that.”

 

“What? Now?” Gordon called as the billionaire turned on his heels, walking towards the stairs. Gordon walked to the door, calling after him, “Bruce!” He let out a heavy, leaning against the frame, crossing his arms. “Goddammit,” he cursed under his breath.

 

\----

 

“I'm not sure he even knows what's going on anymore,” said a wary sounding Gordon. “Something other than what happened to Jimmy has either happened or is happening, and he's not talking about it.”

 

Alfred held phone receiver snuggled tight between his shoulder and neck, picking up the clock off th desk and dusting under it. “Aside from that meeting with Miss Kyle, the only occurrence I can think of that might have upset him was the merger meeting with Lexcorp. I don't see why that would have any –”

 

“Lexcorp...” Gordon interrupted suddenly. There was distinct pause, and Alfred kept quite to let the man on the other end take the moment. “Alfred, are you aware that Bruce has been taking Vicodin?”

 

Alfred felt his lips twitched down into a frown. “I was not. I thought he threw out the last of them when he insisted he was fully healed a few week ago. He hasn't been complaining; then again, he hasn't been saying a lot lately as it is.”

 

“Do you have access to Bruce's office at Wayne Enterprises?” Gordon asked hurriedly. Alfred placed the clock back down on the desk, and wiped his hands on the dust rag.

 

“I'm sure if it's terribly important, Master Gordon, that I can get Lucius to let us in. Might I ask what the problem seems to be?” Alfred assumed it was something to do with Bruce's three day disappearance, but how that connected with his, now, supposed use of Vicodin, Alfred wasn't really sure.

 

“Meet me there in twenty minutes,” Gordon said just before the line went silent. Alfred pushed the off button on the receiver and placed the phone down on it stand. He walked out of the study and down the hall past Bruce's bedroom, peaking his head inside briefly. Bruce was passed out on his bed, face buried into a pillow, jacket and shoes were kicked off toward the corner and he had one leg dangling off the bed. Alfred nodded to himself, shut the door. He thought about locking it, but the security room had entrances all over the penthouse.

 

Alfred just hoped Bruce stayed asleep long enough and no other episodes of the last three days occurred. He scribbled Bruce a quick note just in case he did wake, and headed down the elevator to parking garage.

 

\-----

 

Gordon waited by Bruce's secretary's desk (who was out to lunch fortunately) while Alfred went to talk Lucius into letting them scavenge around Bruce's office. It wasn't really how Gordon wanted to do things in the supposedly open relationship he had with Bruce, but there was definitely something going on and Bruce was being blindsided by it.

 

“I hope you gentlemen know what you're getting yourselves into,” Lucius Fox said as he rounded the corner with Alfred at his heels. Alfred had his hands tidily behind his back, nodding slowly. His gaze caught Gordon's as the elder gentlemen motioned him to follow. Gordon fell in line next to Alfred, keeping a pace behind Bruce's CEO, who unlocked Bruce's office door. “Let it be known, I had nothing to do with this.”

 

Alfred offered Lucius and sincere smile and Gordon nodded his understanding. “As far as we know, you weren't here.” Lucius offered a small gesture, a salute almost, and turned to walk casually back to his own office. Alfred motioned his hand to the office and Gordon passed him, flicking on the light switch by the door.

 

Bruce's office was always tidy, always so in order and put together. Gordon often wondered if the man even did work here, because he sure as hell never kept anything this clean on his own accord in his penthouse. Gordon dropped his hand over the glass top of the desk, inching around the corner and then dropping down behind it. He open the bottom drawer first, only files and paperwork. The second drawer he opened had basic office supplies like a stapler, some pens, and paper-clips. Gordon pushed the chair out of the way and scooted over to the other drawers.

 

“Master Gordon, might I ask what it is I should be looking for?” Alfred questioned from the bookshelf, where he was removing books carefully and looking behind them.

 

“Medicine bottles,” Gordon answered, as he peeked his head up over the side of the desk, to look at Alfred.

 

“Ah,” Alfred simply replied, placing a book back. Gordon ducked back behind the desk again and opened the last drawer, but there was nothing in there either. Gordon hoisted himself to his feet, grasping hold of the top of the desk. Alfred quirked an eyebrow and glanced down at the garbage can.

 

Gordon gestured at the can. “How often does anyone come into clean?”

 

Alfred was already squatting down to look into the bin. “Master Wayne only allows his office to be cleaned when he's here, so it's probably been a week or so.” Alfred reached his hand into the bin and pulled out a small orange and white bottle and tossed it to Gordon, who caught. He rolled it around his fingers. Empty. The label had the name of a Doctor Randolph Porter on it and logo for Lexcorp Labs as the facility had come from.

 

“What's the name of the only doctor Bruce said he trusted?” Gordon asked.

 

“Doctor Leslie Thompkins,” came the prim reply. Gordon handed the bottle back to Alfred, label first. Alfred looked down at it. “Oh, I see.”

 

“Why would Bruce take this?”

 

“He wouldn't,” Alfred answered. “Not unless there was good reason for it. I think it goes without saying, however, that it would have to be one hell of a good reason.” Alfred paused, looking over the bottle's label a little more. “I know this says Vicodin on it, but I have a feeling that isn't exactly what it is.”

 

“What makes you think that?”

 

“I highly doubt a painkiller allows for three days of lost time and no recollection of it.”

 

Gordon nodded. “Agreed. Whatever it actually is might also explain why he can't remember the reason for taking it to begin with.” Gordon held out his hand for the bottle, which Alfred gently placed into his palm. “Looks like I have my work cut out for me.”


	14. Chapter 14

Gordon stood just outside the office of Randolf Porter, the doctor whose name was on the prescription bottle he found in Bruce's office. Gordon had the bottle in his pocket, if he needed to have it as evidence against the doctor, but he was hoping the man would be more than willing to cooperate without the item being shoved into his face. The secretary at the desk smiled at Gordon as she put the phone receiver down.

 

“Doctor Porter will be with you in a few minutes. He's finishing up some paperwork,” the woman said politely. “You can take a seat, if you like.”

 

Gordon nodded, but kept standing just outside the door. Taking a seat would mean he let his guard down little, he didn't need that, not right now. The door opened a few minutes later, and an middle aged, balding man peeked his head out, motioning for Gordon to come into the office. Gordon walked through the door, past the doctor and stood just in front of the cluttered desk. The office was pretty cramped, books scattered about and paper all over the desk and floor.

 

“Commissioner Gordon,” Doctor Porter greeted, one hand held out to him. Gordon took the man's hand, giving a sharp nod. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

Gordon slid one hand into his pocket, fingers rubbing the round container, but didn't take it out. “A friend of mine told me he was coming here for his pain medication –”

 

“Whoa, hold on... I don't just give out medication, if that is what you're accusing me of. I check every patient over thoroughly! Nothing is given without reason!” the doctor explained hurriedly.

 

“That's not what I was accusing. In fact, I'm not accusing at all. I'm more curious about the company that supplies your medication. The last time I checked Vicodin was pretty popular and could be found cheaper from other manufactures. Why do you use Lexcorp Labs?”

 

“Commissioner, I don't have control over where the prescription drugs come from. Most insurance companies have a say over where and what brand of drug is going to be used. Lexcorp is used in several situations, mainly the painkillers and anti-depressants.” The doctor sat down in his chair, sifting through some papers on his desk.

 

Gordon took his hand out of his pocket and placed them both palms down on the desk, glaring down at the other man. “Exactly what _are_ you a doctor of?”

 

Porter raised his head, and Gordon saw a slight shake to the man's hands; he was starting to get closer to something. “I'm mainly a scientist, but I do have a doctrine in general medicine...”

 

“Scientist? What do you research?” Gordon asked. The doctor bit into his lower lip, glancing around the room feverishly.

 

“Performance drugs. Helping athletes get better results in their workouts,” Porter explained, even if it was vague.

 

“Steroids?” Gordon own hands were starting to sweat, the feeling that he had just stumbled upon something important was evading his brain. It was all he could do but not reach over the desk and demand more answers.

 

“I'm not at liberty to say. Nothing illegal, if that's what you're asking. But if you want to know more Commissioner, you're going to have to get warrant. I don't have to tell you anything else. Now, if you'll kindly let me get back to my work?” The doctor gestured to the door, eyes never meeting Gordon's, and they didn't have to for Gordon to know that he'd hit a spot.

 

“Of course,” Gordon said, smirking. He pushed himself up with his palms, turned on his heels and left the office.

 

\------

 

 

“Steroids, Master Gordon?” Alfred asked as he placed a cup of tea down on the counter in front of the commissioner. Gordon placed his hands around the warm cup, glancing down into the murky brown water of the earl gray tea – Alfred's usual afternoon tea choice.

 

“I can't be sure that's really what he prescribed for Bruce, but I damn sure know it wasn't Vicodin. That doesn't make you forget a whole three days.”

 

“Neither would typical steroids, sir,” Alfred pointed out as he took a sip of his own tea. “A mind control drug, perhaps?”

 

Gordon shook his head. “I'm doubting that. Don't ask me how I'm sure of it, but I am. The doctor mention he researched performance drugs for athletes. Now it's just a hunch, but with the way he started to sweat, I'm sure that's it.” Alfred went to say something, but a noise from upstairs broke their conversation as a door slammed shut. Bruce staggered down the stairs, wearing only a pair of sweats. His hair was sticking up in every which direction, but he looked less exhausted.

 

Bruce stopped short of the kitchen as he saw Gordon sitting at the bar counter. “What are you doing here?” he asked, a bit too defensive for Gordon's liking.

 

“Checking up on you. When you left yesterday you seemed a little 'off'. Wanted to see how you were doing,” Gordon answered, sipping his tea. Bruce placed a hand on the counter, facing Gordon.

 

“Yesterday?” Bruce looked confused, his gazing moving to Alfred. “You let me sleep more than twenty-four hours?”

 

“I dare say, Master Wayne, you needed the sleep. I wasn't about to wake you and cause more issues.” Alfred set his cup down on the counter. “Can I get you come coffee or tea, sir?”

 

Bruce merely stared at Alfred for a few long seconds before nodding slowly. “No, thank you, Alfred.” He turned to Gordon. “How's Jimmy?”

 

Gordon shrugged. “Coping. Babs is babying him like a mother hen. I'm surprised he gets to go to the bathroom by himself.”

 

“Good,” Bruce said distantly, voice trailing. He hadn't really listened to Gordon's answer, he seemed to be in a bit of daze. “I'm going to go shower and then go to the office... I have some business to do attend to.”

 

“Right now?” Gordon asked, placing his cup down on the counter as Bruce turned to walk back up the stairs.

 

“It's pretty important. Should have been done yesterday, but someone let me sleep too long.” Bruce shot back a glance at Alfred, who sighed and looked at Gordon warily. Gordon slid off the stool he was sitting on and walked after Bruce up the stairs. Bruce walked into the master Bedroom, to the bathroom and stripped down as he turned the water on. Gordon stood at the door of the bathroom, arms folded over his chest.

 

“I know you say nothing is going on between you and that ex of yours, but I know _something_ is going on because the distance you're creating between us is more than obvious. More so over the last week. What's really going on, Bruce?”

 

Bruce stepped into the shower, avoiding Gordon's hardened glare. “Nothing,” Bruce replied. “Nothing has changed. I'm not pushing you away. There is no distance. You're reading too much into this, Jim.”

 

Gordon looked down at his feet, setting his jaw to hold down the annoyance he was starting to feel. “Where did you get the Vicodin, Bruce?”

 

“Vicodin?” Bruce asked, peeking his head out from the shower curtain, curiously.

 

“Yes, you mentioned it yesterday when you came to my office. You said you took some that night at your office before you woke up three days later at the penthouse,” Gordon explained, taking a step into the bathroom towards the shower. Bruce ducked behind the curtain again.

 

“Oh, right...” Bruce trailed off. Gordon expected an immediate answer, but none ever came. The only sound that was heard was the water spraying from the nozzle, and the sound of water on skin.

 

“Bruce,” Gordon called, almost a warning. The water shut off and Bruce reached for the towel on the rack by the shower. Bruce stepped out, towel wrapped loosely around his hips. He ran his hands through his damp hair, walking over to the sink.

 

“I thought we went over this before, Jim. I don't remember. Found them in my drawer in my office. I figured they were left over from the ones Leslie prescribed for me a month ago,” Bruce explained. That wasn't like the Bruce Wayne Gordon knew at all. Bruce Wayne – Batman – would never take anything without reading the bottle first, especially if he wasn't sure why or how it got there.

 

“I don't like being lied to, Bruce. You know that,” Gordon said, digging his hands deep into his pockets. Things were falling apart around him, and this was the last thing he ever expected to end as quickly as it started.

 

“I'm not lying –” Bruce started to say, but Gordon put his hand up.

 

“Don't,” Gordon said, pulling the empty bottle out with his other hand, and placed it on the counter next to Bruce. “I'm likely to believe a lot of things, especially from you, and I really want to believe you this time, but I can't. I paid that doctor a visit, and I'm pretty sure he didn't give you Vicodin and I'm pretty sure, now, that you know that, too.”

 

“Jim, please...” Bruce pleaded as he looked from the bottle to Gordon.

 

“Whatever that doctor gave you, whatever you asked for, I don't want a part of it. Not if you have to lie to everyone you know about it.” Gordon turned on his heels and walked towards the bedroom door.

 

“It's not like that! I honestly don't remember the other night and the three days that followed!” Bruce called as Gordon walked out the room and started down the stairs. “I didn't know the side affects!”

 

Gordon was shaking his head as he took the last step down to main floor, walking back into the kitchen to tell Alfred goodbye. The butler was cleaning the counters, looking up as Gordon entered, acting as if he hadn't heard anything. Gordon finished the tea he had left on the counter, not quite cold, walking it around to the other side of the counter and placing it in the sink.

 

“He's digging himself an early grave, Alfred. I know you can't do much to stop him, but whatever that drug is he was or is taking, it's not good. It's altering his mind state and his physique. He's bulked up in the last week.”

 

“Steroids,” Alfred said softly. “Or some form of, I should say.”

 

“That's becoming more apparent with his mood-swings as well. I think it's more than that, though, Alfred. And, I don't know what it is, but I'm going to find out.”

 

“Is that wise, sir?” Alfred asked, as Gordon grabbed his keys off the counter and headed for the elevator.

 

“It's either that or we let Bruce destroy himself.”

 

\----

 

Alfred stood at the counter for several minutes after Jim Gordon left. A lot had happened in a weeks time, things that would change all of them forever and consequently make everything a little harder to obtain. What Alfred didn't understand was what exactly was going on with his charge. Bruce, usually a bit moody when things didn't quite go the way he expected, but often bounced back to his usual, only mildly, brooding self. Alfred had actually thought that the young man had gotten past that when he finally found his 'life companion' in Jim Gordon.

 

So, there was definitely something amiss, and Alfred was not about to stand for it any longer. He took the stairs slowly up to the master bedroom, rapping lighting on the door. He heard a muffled “come in” before he entered. Bruce gelling back his hair draped with only a towel around the waist. Gordon had been right, Bruce had bulked up a bit since last week, but Alfred had been so worried over the bruising and other injuries, that he looked past it.

 

“Alfred?” Bruce asked as he quirked an eyebrow at the mirror, staring past himself and to the butler.

 

“Might I spare a moment from you, Master Wayne?” Alfred asked, hands clasped tightly behind his back, waiting by the bathroom door. Bruce washed the gel off his hands and dried them on a hand towel, nodding.

 

“Yes,” he said, walking out of the bathroom and towards the closet, where he started to sift through the many designer suits.

 

“I'd like your full attention,” Alfred said sternly, a tone he hadn't really had to use with Bruce since he was quite young. Bruce turned around, gray striped suit in hand. He placed it down on the bed and then sat down next to it, opening his arms in a 'go ahead' gesture.

 

“I'm all yours,” Bruce said.

 

Alfred sat down next to him, sighing heavily. “You are throwing everything away that you stand for, everything that has made your nightly activities easier to handle. I know about the drugs you're taking. I can't very well make you stop, that's a decision you have to make. But, you'll lose a lot more than you're gaining if you continue on this way.”

 

Bruce narrowed his eyes on the older man, frowning. “I got them from a doctor Luthor has working for him. I went investigating the other night before the meeting with Lexcorp Labs, wanted to be sure I could trust the company. Had a conversation with the doctor and it all lead to the recent murders and beatings going on and the doctor offered me these pills that would enhance my strength.” Bruce's eyes dropped, the naiveness apparent in his own voice, as if he was starting to realize his own mistakes. “It's what I need to take down these 'supermen'. They're getting stronger while I'm getting weaker after each confrontation.”

 

“You don't find it the least bit odd, sir, that this doctor has offered you the same sort of drug that is obviously being given to the men off the street?” Alfred asked, worriedly looking over Bruce's scars and wounds from the other morning when he found him.

 

Bruce shook his head. “No. It's not the same. I don't get a rush of power like the other's do. These just help me become stronger, work out harder...”

 

Alfred tipped his head to the side and reached out to touch Bruce's arm in a fatherly manner. “You don't remember three days of your life, Master Bruce,” Alfred stood, looking down at Bruce. “I think you know the real answer here.” And he walked out of the room, leaving Bruce to think it over.   


	15. Chapter 15

“Your suspicions seem to be correct, sir,” Alfred said as he stood in the living room of the Gordon household. After Alfred had left Bruce at the penthouse, he made his way to Jim Gordon's house to let him know exactly what Bruce had told him.

 

Gordon looked up from the pot he was stirring on the stove, giving Alfred a tired and worn down look. “And that would be...?”

 

“He knows the drugs he took are strength enhancing. He took them purposely,” Alfred explained, folding his hands in front of him, trying to calm even his own nerves about the situation.

 

Gordon placed the wooden spoon down on the stove, expressionless. “What was he expecting to gain?”

 

“Strength,” Alfred replied solemnly. “You know as well as I do that his inability to take down these super humans has really been disheartening for what he does in Gotham City.”

 

“So that makes it okay for him to take drugs to enhance his performance? That's not like him. That's not the Bruce Wayne I know. That's not the Batman I know, either,” Gordon said angrily. Alfred looked down at his shoes, hearing Gordon breath a sigh.

 

“I think it's safe to say that Master Wayne hasn't really been himself since the first incident,” Alfred replied softly. “Mad men and riddler masters terrorizing the city is one thing, but being beaten by brute strength alone, that's enough to smash his ego.” Alfred looked back up at Gordon, whose anger had melted off his face.

 

“You're right, Alfred. I don't think any of us really thought it would be an issue for him,” Gordon sighed. “Even I forgot that he is just a man.” And, Alfred knew, was half the issue. No one ever stopped to think that anything could ever slow Batman down or keep him from his personal civic duty to the city. And that was exactly what Bruce wanted them to think. “It's dangerous. I suspect those drugs are highly addicting. He'll be trying to get more here soon and it won't be pretty when he doesn't.”

 

Alfred raised an eyebrow in question at the other man across the counter. “I don't think we'll be able to stop him.”

 

“No,” Gordon said, biting his bottom lip, “but we can cut off his source.”

 

\----

 

In most situations Gordon knew that a drug addict had to have the want to become clean for themselves, but he knew that if he didn't interfere somehow that Bruce would never get to the point of realizing just how addicting he was or would become. Cutting him off now, at the source, would be the easiest way. Gordon stood, once again, in front of Doctor Porter's desk, staring down the man.

 

“I told you once you once, Commissioner, you need a warrant to be here,” the doctor said, voice shaking just slightly.

 

“I'm not here for answers or snooping around. I'm here to tell you to keep your damn drugs to yourself because if I do see that a certain protector of the city get his hands on more again, I will come back with a warrant, and I will shut you down. For good.” Gordon leaned his hands on the desk to get down to the doctor's eye level. He could see the fear in the man's eyes; point taken.

 

“Un...understood,” Porter replied, a nervous little smile fading off his lips. Gordon nodded his head and walked out. Easy and simple. He just hoped the message was thoroughly received and he wouldn't have to come back to finish what he threatened. Alfred stood by the the lobby door waiting for him.

 

“Hopefully that will take care of it,” Gordon said to him as they walked out of the building together and towards Gordon's Towncar.

 

Alfred was keeping up with him, hands clasped tightly behind his back. “We can only hope, Sir.”

 

\-----

 

Jim Gordon stood of the rooftop of Major Crimes, looking out over the skyline of the city. This was one of the highest points in Gotham, aside from Wayne Tower. The city was buzzing with cars and horns, the shuffle people passing each other on the streets as another day went by and nothing changed for them. Oh, how Gordon wished that he could experience the same thing; have everything just be one way for a few weeks...

 

“You're never up here this early,” Montoya said as she shut the door behind her, stepping up next to Gordon. She folded her arms and looked him over. “And you look like you haven't slept in days.”

 

Gordon shrugged. “There's been a lot going on. Between Jimmy's recovery and Babs last days until she moves into the dorms at Gotham U...”

 

“I don't think it's really all about them,” Montoya prodded. “Whatever it is, I'm sure _he'll_ come around.”

 

“Detective...” Gordon started, glancing over at her. She smiled one of the cocky little grin and placed her hands on her hips.

 

“What? He always does.” And she walked back down the stairs.

 

\------

 

Bruce had stared at the bottle Gordon left on his bathroom sink for a good hour before he finally decided on what needed to be done. He threw the container into the trash and drove to Wayne Enterprises. There was meeting he had to attend with Lexcorp Labs, and there were a few things now he wanted to discuss. Mainly the doctor he had gotten these drugs from and his affiliation with Lexcorp. If what Alfred and Gordon were saying was true and these drugs were exactly the same as the ones they were finding pumped into the 'super men' on the street, Bruce had made a terrible mistake.

 

And as he stood in the board room of Wayne Enterprises, still aware that his body was flushing out the drugs he had taken a few days prior, he began to grow nervous. Bruce was never nervous about business ventures. He would usually chalk this up to something Batman related, but really this was all Bruce and his own stupid decisions to take a drug he should have known better than to trust. Bruce could almost hear his own heart pounding against his chest, a rhythm faster than he was used to – a side effect he was sure. In a day or so, if not sooner, he would begin to feel the real effects of the withdrawal.

 

He'd have to make this meeting brief.

 

Lex Luthor entered the room, closing the door behind him. “Bruce, to what do I owe the pleasure of this private meeting?” He sauntered over to Bruce, hands his pockets. They were past pleasantries and it was more than obvious they despised each other, even if neither said it – it was just there, an electric warning buzzing in the back of Bruce's mind.

 

“We need to talk,” Bruce said, motioned to a chair. Lex looked at the chair and raised an eyebrow. He simply placed a hand on the back of chair.

 

“I'd prefer to stand. Sitting down always makes me think there's bad news coming.”

 

Bruce smiled smugly. “Depends on how you want to take it.”

 

The smile on Lex's face melted like water and his eyes didn't leave Bruce. He didn't say a word. Bruce shifted.

 

“I did some research today and there seems to be a lot of cover up going on for Lexcorp. There also seems to be a lot of the funds provided going to an unnamed project involving a prisoner in Black Gate. Now, what would we really need to be doing with Black Gate prisoners, Lex?”

 

“Exactly as the paperwork stated,” Lex replied as he leaned in towards Bruce, lowing his tone. “If you didn't fall asleep during meetings and you actually read the contract before signing them, you might know what's going on.”

 

Bruce waited for an explanation. Lex gritted his teeth in annoyance.

 

“We're creating stronger men and women for the government to use. That was the reason for the merger. You needed my help and I needed yours. Together, we're going to have a vast array of super humans to help bring freedom and hope back to the United States. To stop terrorism, Bruce.”

 

It sounded good – too good. Just how many people had Lexcorp been pumping full of these drugs? Were they the same Bruce had been given? We they the drugs they had been encountering on the street? And it was then that it all fit together and Bruce no longer needed Lex to answer or explain. Bruce had been feeding into the very thing he was trying to fight, to over come. He was giving money to cause he didn't believe in and the bit about military was a dream and terrible nightmare he didn't want to be a part of. These people were terrorizing Gotham and if they were allowed outside of the city, who knows what would happen.

 

He couldn't let that happen.

 

“No,” Bruce said with a shake of his head. “This isn't what I wanted. This isn't what's good for Wayne Biotech or our image. These super humans being created are murdering people. We can't – You can't – control them.”

 

“Lexcrop Labs has been at this for some time now, and the injection is about right. We have had some issues in the past few months with a few people going... haywire, but with your companies help, _Wayne_ , we've been able to _fix_ the _problem,_ ” Lex said through gritted teeth, trying to hold down th anger rising in his tone.

 

Bruce shook his head again. “I'm sorry, Lex. This isn't going to continue. I'm terminating this contract now. You can keep whatever Wayne Biotech has given your company, but I'm not giving anything else. You can take your project out of Gotham. I will _not_ have that running around _my_ city.”

 

Lex let out a strangled laugh. “You make it sound as if you run this Godforsaken hellhole of city. Get your head out of your ass and don't be stupid. If you break this contract...”

 

“If I break this contract the city will survive. If I don't, I know for fact thousands if not millions are going to die and I will not have my hands in that.”

 

“Fine,” Lex said, turning to leave. “You will regret this, Wayne. Trust me, you will.”

 

\------

 

Gordon stood in the middle of the Bruce's penthouse, looking out the windows that over looked the city below. Bruce called him about an hour prior and asked him to meet with him. It took a bit of convincing on Bruce's part because Gordon was pretty much done with Bruce, but he did sound desperate and Gordon was willing to give the benefit of the doubt. So, there was standing and waiting. Another fifteen minutes and Gordon would leave.

 

Luckily, he didn't have to wait that long. The elevator dinged and Gordon turned in time to see the doors slide open and a rather disheveled Bruce walked off, tugging at his tie as he went. He approached Gordon, a smile so weak and wary that Gordon automatically knew something was wrong.

 

“First, an apology,” Bruce said, placing his hands on Gordon shoulders. “I should have told you and I should have listening. I should have....a lot of things.” Gordon nodded, letting him go on. “Second, I'm going to be off the streets for an indefinite amount of time.”

 

“Off the streets?” Gordon asked, gazing into Bruce's eyes, looking for some unsaid answer that might be hidden behind his sad, hazel hues. There wasn't a lot there, just a lot of distance and tiredness.

 

“These drugs I was taking, Jim, they don't have a pretty withdrawal. I can't afford to be on the streets and messing up left and right. It's better off if I just... stay locked up.”

 

“Locked up?”

 

“I'm having Alfred lock me in the bunker. I'll have everything I need down there, but this is a period of time where I need to reflect and not have any distractions,” Bruce said, sighing. He looked a little more fondly on Gordon, taking his face into his hands. “I don't want to hurt anyone else or hurt anyone any further.”

 

“How long?”

 

“I couldn't say,” Bruce sighed again. He kissed Gordon on the lips softly. “I do want your support here. You and the kids and Alfred's. You are all I have of a real family and without the support I don't think I'd be able to keep going.”

 

Gordon nodded. “Of course.” He couldn't deny Bruce anything, as much as he loathed him early, for everything – he just couldn't give up on the one person that completed his life again.

 

“Keep the light on, though,” Bruce murmured. Gordon furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Bruce smiled weakly. “Batsignal. Don't let anyone think that Batman isn't watching.”

 

“Never,” Gordon whispered.


	16. Chapter 16

Amazingly, Gotham grew quiet for a few weeks. The super humans stopped popping up and related murders and deaths came to a slow crawl. The most Gordon had to worry about was keeping the more common criminals believing that Batman was still watching, still protecting the night and dishing out harsh punishments. After three weeks, Gordon wasn't sure he wanted to do it anymore, it just didn't feel right. That may all have been because things around his house were getting more distant and his children were getting older by the day.

 

In fact, that very day Babs was packing the last of the things she would need for school and packing them into her car. He watched from her door way as she placed the last bit of her clothing into a bin and put the lid on it. She looked up at him and smiled sweetly. He returned it, half-heartily, and then looked down at his shoes. Oh, how he wished Barbara was here to see their little girl going off to college...

 

“Hi, daddy,” Babs said as she picked up the bin and walked towards the door. He slipped out of her way as she strolled past. “Could you open the front door for me?”

 

Gordon nodded and walked ahead of her, opening the door and allowing her to pass him before walking out with her. She placed the bin in the back of her car and shut the door. She dusted her hands on her pants and then placed them on her hips. She sighed.

 

“Only a few more hours,” she said, approaching her father. “I wish Bruce was here.”

 

“I do, too,” Gordon replied quietly. He hadn't heard from Bruce since that evening three weeks ago, and only occasionally did he hear from Alfred for progress reports, but even then he hadn't heard a thing in at least a week now. For all Gordon knew Bruce was dead. Jimmy walked out of the house, one arm still in a sling.

 

“Dad? Phone call,” the boy said, handing Gordon the phone. He nodded at his son and took the phone, cradling it against his ear.

 

“This is Jim Gordon.”

 

“Jim?” came a familiar voice, rough and weak. Gordon pulse raced, a shock wave sounding through his back as his blood began to boil.

 

“Bruce?” he asked, warranting a raised eyebrow from Babs and a hopeful little perk of a head from Jimmy.

 

“Yeah,” the younger man breathed into the receiver, sounding more tired than ever. “Can I see you?”

 

“Well, it's Babs' last day at home, we're --”

 

“-- I'll come over there. I wanted to give her something before she left as it is.”

 

“Sure, sure. She was just talking about how she wished you were here.”

 

“Great. I'll be by in about an hour.”

 

\-----

 

Alfred rolled up less than an hour later in the Rolls Royce. He parked on the street and opened the back passenger door. Gordon stood, waiting and watching as a long leg slipped out of the car attached to a very thin looking Bruce Wayne. He was wearing a gray suit, white shirt and red tie. His hair had obviously just been cut and his face clean shaved, but the hollows of his eyes gave away the true state of his well-being. Alfred shut the door and walked a few paces behind Bruce as the billionaire made his way up the driveway towards Gordon and his family.

 

Babs was the first to step forward and wrap her arms around Bruce's frail body. She nuzzled her face into his chest and squeezed him so tight Gordon heard Bruce let out a struggling breath. Gordon placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder and pulled her back a bit.

 

“I'm so glad you got to come, Bruce,” she said, smiling brightly. Bruce returned the smile the best he could, fishing into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a rectangular, black velvet box and handed it to Babs.

 

“I wouldn't miss being here. I had to give this you, after all.”

 

Babs beamed at him as she opened the box. Inside was a heart-shaped twenty-four karat gold locket on a matching chain. Babs picked it up and opened the locket and inside was a picture of Barbara Gordon, her mother. Gordon looked at the locket and then to Bruce, unaware as to when Bruce would have found and taken the picture from their stash in the attic. It didn't matter though, because Babs was sobbing with joy.

 

“Thank you so much, Bruce. This is perfect,” she whispered through a few tears and then hugged the billionaire again. She pulled away and Bruce looked at Jimmy, sizing up his arm.

 

“How's that coming?”

 

Jimmy shrugged. “One of the bones won't set properly. The right one did fine, but the left didn't.”

 

Bruce stepped up onto the porch, touching Jimmy's good arm with his hand. “Give it a few more weeks, I bet it'll be fine.”

 

“Yeah,” Jimmy replied, heading back inside with Alfred and Babs. Gordon stood in his spot against the porch rail and looked out at the street at the sun that was starting to set.

 

“Only three weeks?” he asked, skeptical.

 

“I hadn't been taking it that long,” Bruce replied, taking a step towards Gordon. “Recovering rate is different for everyone. First week was the hardest, second was better, third... here I am.”

 

“How...?” Gordon started to ask, but he saw Bruce shaking his head out of his peripheral vision. He turned his head completely to look at the man.

 

“I don't want to discuss it. It was a nightmare – _I_ was a nightmare. I don't even want to think what would happened if I'd kept taking those pills...” Bruce stuffed his hands into his pockets nervously, and Gordon reached out a hand and tugged on the lapels of his jacket, pulling Bruce to him.

 

“Let's change the subject,” Gordon said, resting his fingertips on Bruce's hip, the other hand sizing up his waist. “Like how I'm going to have to feed you three servings of spaghetti tonight just to make up for all the weight you lost.”

 

Bruce smiled – a genuine soft smile – and wrapped his arms around Gordon tightly. Gordon let his own arms find their way around Bruce, and despite the weight loss on Bruce's end, they still fit together perfectly, pieces coming back together after a long time away, but it felt right. His best friend, his savior; everything that kept him sane when his wife died. Best yet, he was the Bruce he knew well again, despite the wear the detox had on his demeanor.

 

“C'mon,” Gordon said, pulling back and taking Bruce's hand into his own. “Dinner's about done.” He pulled on Bruce's hand and he let Gordon tug him into the house. The kids and Alfred were already seated at the table waiting on them. Bruce took his usual seat when he ate over and Gordon sat the head of the table and they enjoyed and unusually quiet dinner together.

 

After dinner they saw Babs off, she was set to get to the college just outside of city limits by nine in order to check in to her dorm. She hugged Jimmy and Alfred, and kissed Bruce and Gordon on the cheeks, thanking Bruce again for the beautiful locket. She got into her car and started down the driveway and Gordon felt like a hole was being pressed into his heart. Bruce reached and grabbed his hand, squeezing it.

 

“She's coming home every other weekend, right?” Bruce asked softly. Gordon nodded. “It'll be here sooner than you think.” Gordon turned, pulling Bruce with him to walk back inside but Alfred put a hand on Bruce's shoulder.

 

“Master Gordon, if I may speak with Master Bruce for just a moment,” Alfred asked. Gordon nodded, his fingers sliding away from Bruce regretfully. He stood just at the door however, leaning against the frame of the screen, listening to what Alfred had to say to Bruce.

 

“Lucius brought this by yesterday afternoon. I didn't want to bother you with it until after this evening,” Alfred said and Gordon watched him hand Bruce some kind of envelope, big and manila. Bruce opened the it, pulling out a stack of papers and shifting through them quickly.

 

He shook his head. “What is this? Is this...?”

 

Alfred nodded. “I'm afraid so, sir. Lucius said Lex Luthor was livid and not willing to let it go. You broke a contract without prior notice and without consent of the other party.”

 

“So he's suing me? Personally?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Bruce sighed, dropping his hands to his side, fingers bunched around the papers. “Perfect,” Bruce groaned, stepping up the stairs to the screen. Gordon opened it and let them both in side.

 

“Coffee?” Gordon asked after seeing the look on Bruce's face. Bruce just nodded, taking a seat at the table and going through the papers in front of him again.

 

“I can't believe he's suing me,” Bruce mumbled. He looked up at Alfred. “Does my lawyer know?”

 

“I called him this morning, Master Wayne. He said he would talk with Luthor's lawyer and get back to you in a few days. Until then you aren't allowed any contact with Luthor or his company and its advised you stay away from Wayne Enterprises for a bit.”

 

Gordon brought over the three mugs of coffee and placed them on the table. “Well it explains the sudden drop in crime surrounding the super humans.”

 

“Really?” Bruce asked. “No incidents?”

 

“Not one,” Gordon answered, sipping his coffee. “I don't think it's been a coincidence.”

 

“No, and I have feeling with this coming up, we'll just be seeing a pick up in murders and super humans again. There is always a calm before a the storm.”


End file.
